Diamonds Arc Story 1: Diamonds Etched in Blood
by Galaxia Alpha
Summary: After the events that led to Remy being abandoned in Antarctica, the thief tries to piece his life back together, but is interrupted by the kidnapping of an old teammate. Takes place around Uncanny XMen 360.
1. Default Chapter Title

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Diamonds Etched in Blood—Author's Notes

Disclaimer: The characters used in this story are the property of Marvel. The interpretations are mine. No profit is being made by me and these characters are being used without permission.

Special Thanks: A google of thank you's to my wonderful beta readers, Faile and Skyflare. I love you guys, and I thank you for all the help you've given me to make this story complete. You both are great friends and talented people who deserve recognition for all your hard work. Thanks again.

Author's Notes: Diamonds Etched in Blood is part of a larger arc of stories that I am currently working on, all of which center of the X-Man, Gambit. This particular story is post-Antarctica. It takes place about 2 months after the Trial in the period of time following Operation Zero Tolerance. All of the X-Men are involved in this story, but the focus is Gambit and the other characters are used mostly to explore his character. This story starts with the assumption that Gambit does not realize that it was his self-hate that caused Rogue to leave him in Antarctica after she absorbed him with her powers. This story is NOT primarily a Gambit and Rogue story. Though the couple is addressed, the main focus is Gambit. I think that covers everything. If anybody has any questions, just ask!

Well, that's it. Enjoy!

-Galaxia Alpha-

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Part 1

The cold bit at him like a ferocious monster, but still he walked on, white snow coming up around his legs and melting against his numb skin. Frigid wind swept up his long red hair, the icicles that filled it tingling slightly as they broke. Sharp, retching pain afflicted his lungs, cold air freezing them as it did the rest of his body. 

But still he walked on. 

His brain had lost the ability to entertain idle thoughts, or even to consider his predicament and how he had come to be here. All his energies centered around one purpose. Survival. Even if it was hopeless.

He could barely see through the falling snow. It swept into his eyes and blocked his vision, his eyelashes having long ago been ripped out in his attempts to open frozen eyelids. He tripped in a deep, white drift and fell, one bare arm reaching out to break his collision with the ground. The other hand was closed in a fist, lifted protectively away from the snow. Curious, he opened it, seeing inside a small tattered card with a printed picture of a woman and a Q in the corner. The heart on its face caught his attention. Its dark red color burned his eyes, reaching into his chest and grabbing at the empty space there. He wondered at the reaction but couldn't remember where the card had come from, even though something told him he should. He was too tired to really care anyway. Weakly he staggered to his feet, pushing onward and still holding the card because something inside him just wouldn't let it go.

Through blurry vision he gazed around him, white hills of snow filling all directions as far as the limited visibility would allow him see. He didn't know where he was going, moving forward only because instinct told him it was better than staying still. But he was so tired. Trembling, he took another tiny step... and stumbled again, lying face down in the snow. For a moment he simply stayed there, and in a detached, delusional way, wondered if he were not already dead. He felt so empty inside...

He tried to get up, but couldn't, body refusing to work through the numbness. So tired... His eyes closed against the white pad of snow. Mouth pressed firmly against the cold, icy substance, his lungs screaming for air. But he was too exhausted to lift his head. He'd be asleep soon anyway. Closing his hand around the mysterious card, he let go of the last weak threads that held him so tenuously to awareness. Vaguely, he knew that he was dying, but no fear erupted within him at the thought... for in reality he was already dead... had had the life sucked out of him weeks earlier... 

Tired... Dizziness embrace him from lack of air... Sleep was so near, a tangible black hole over whose edge he peered longingly... Another step and he would be swallowed up in it... So near... and suddenly he was falling, swimming in murky darkness, unconsciousness rolling over him and surrounding him like a lover's arms... 

Until he woke up gasping desperately for air.

§ ¨ © ª

Remy LeBeau sat on the side of the bed. His hands shook violently and he pressed them against the plush surface to keep them still. Breaths came in ragged gasps as he tried to collect himself. The red irises of his strange eyes glowed brightly in the dim light of the early morning. He'd had the nightmare again. The reoccurring one that featured everyone's favorite vacation spot: Antarctica. Bitterness cocooned his thoughts as he remembered the cold winds and frigid air. As he remembered the emptiness he'd felt after Rogue had left him to die for his past sins.

And she'd almost succeeded. Had it not been for that Inuit man sent by New Son to find him, Remy would most likely be a frozen popsicle somewhere on the bottom of the world. Course, that didn't mean he was better off alive than dead. He owed a debt to New Son and he didn't even know who the guy was. And if he failed to fill that debt? Remy knew of much worse punishments than death.

After New Son had saved his life he'd immediately made good on the deal, sending Remy off into the Savage Land to do his bidding. Once that was over he just kind of left the Cajun thief to fend for himself. Said he'd be in touch. Meanwhile, Remy was struggling with a particularly nasty case of pneumonia. He managed to find his way back to the New Orleans Thieves Guild where Tante Mante spent months helping him recover. It had been the only place he could think to go.

He had made his father, Jean Luc, call the X-Men for him once, just in case anybody still cared to know he was alive. He hadn't had the guts to do it himself, but he'd needed to know if he had any friends left there, which surprised him. Why did it matter so much? Anyway, it had been worth calling. He still smiled at the memory of his father telling him how Stormy had resorted to threats in order to get him to let her speak to Remy. Talking to her had been comforting; at least he knew they all didn't hate him. By the end of the conversation he'd even felt relaxed enough to call her Stormy again.

Speaking to Storm had also given him a chance to find out the latest news on the team... and on one member in particular. Apparently, Rogue had left the X-Men immediately after she'd returned from Antarctica and hadn't been seen since. But once, when the X-Men were searching Antarctica for him, Wolverine had caught her scent on the winds. At least he knew they had searched for him, but unfortunately Antarctica was a very big place and no one had been quite sure where the Citadel was...

Remy forcibly pulled himself back to the present, to his little Hotel Room in New York City. Normally he tried to avoid being this close to Salem Center, but the pay for the thieving job he'd completed here last night had been too good to refuse. Hey, a man had to buy beer somehow, right? He smiled bitterly. There was a time when he would have needed money for cigarettes too, but his recent case of pneumonia following his little excursion to Antarctica had forced him to quit. If he tried to smoke now, his still healing lungs would most likely brutally protest, leaving him coughing and gasping for air on the floor. He knew. He'd tried it once. Had nearly gotten himself rushed off to the hospital as a result.

Remy stood and walked unsteadily to the tiny bathroom. He was soaked with sweat from the nightmare and a shower was definitely in order. Funny how he could dream about freezing to death and still wake up sweaty. Slipping out of his boxers with the adorable little Budweiser frogs (which he had worn to bed simply because they were so darn cute), he stepped into the warm misty water that emerged from a tiny, silver showerhead high on the shower wall. The steamy water streamed over his body, helping to relax the tightly twined muscles.

After washing himself with a flower scented bar of hotel soap and a shampoo/conditioner that didn't quite do the job of untangling his hair, he got out of the shower and left the bathroom wrapped in a fuzzy white towel. His luggage sat in the corner, happily awaiting its owner, and Remy dug through its contents until he found a clean pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. He dressed and sat down on the bed again. Wincing, he looked at the clock. Only eight in the morning. He was crazy to be up this early, but after that nightmare he really didn't feel much like going back to sleep. What to do... What to do... 

He tapped his fingers restlessly against the nightstand next to the bed. His flight back to California where his employers resided wasn't until 5'o clock that evening and until then he had absolutely nothing to occupy his attention. His stomach growled angrily at him for being ignored. Okay, okay, he had one thing that he could do... There was a McDonalds down the block from here and miraculously he was up in time for breakfast. 

Getting up from the bed, Remy walked to the full-length mirror and checked to make sure he was presentable. He smiled admiringly at the tall, lean, handsome man that stared back at him. "Remy y' are one good-lookin' homme," he said to himself. Then his smile flipped upside down. "Too bad de inside ain't nearly as pretty as de outside." Taking the dark Raybans from the table to hide his unusual mutant eyes, he turned and left the hotel room.

§ ¨ © ª

One order of hotcakes and a cup of coffee later, Remy sat at a small table talking to a rather pretty woman. She was young, about his age, and sported a thick bob of red hair. He sat across from her, comfortable in the hard, rigid chair, easy confidence scrawled across his face as he flirted effortlessly with her.

"So, umm... where are you from?" she asked. It was a casual question, but he knew she was feeling him out; New Yorkers were by far the most suspicious folk on the planet.

Remy put on the straightest, most serious face he could muster. "De great state o' Alaska." He could see the suspicion growing on her face.

"Really?" she asked, trying not to seem too skeptical despite the unbelieving way her eyebrows were raised.

"Non... but I always did wonder what it be like t' live in an igloo." He smiled at her then and her countenance cracked into a chuckle.

"You are one of a kind, Mr..."

He smiled at her again, though this time it was more of a smirk, but said nothing, waiting for her to press the issue. Her emerald green eyes sparkled as she looked at him curiously and he had to force himself not to look away... They reminded him too much a certain someone he didn't want to think about right now.

"Well?" she persisted. "Aren't you gonna tell me your name? My coffee is now officially cold and I've been so busy talking to you that I've neglected to fulfill my daily caffeine requirement. The people at work are gonna want to know the name of the man responsible for turning me into a terrible caffeine deprived monster."

"Guess," he answered simply.

"Your name?" she asked. He nodded in reply.

"Okay." She squinted those brilliant green eyes at him for a moment, face scrunched slightly in the pretense of deep thought. "Wilbur," she said finally and then laughed at the horrible face he made at her.

"Wilbur!?" he exclaimed.

"Hehe... relax. I'm just kidding." She smiled mischievously at him. "You're too cute to have a name like Wilbur. Okay, seriously now. You're wearing sunglasses inside McDonalds and you don't look like you've shaved in a week, so you gotta have one of those big macho names... But you're also somewhat civilized so it can't be something like 'Spike' or 'Bubba'..." She laughed as he made more horrified faces. "And you say stuff like 'chere' and 'merci' so you must be French or something..." She paused for a moment, brow wrinkled in concentration. "Oh, I don't know... Pierre?" she ventured hopefully.

He laughed at her. "Give up?" he asked.

"Yes!" came the exhasperated answer.

"Remy."

"Remy?"

"Yup."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren' y' gonna tell me _your_ name? It's only fair, chere."

She smiled at him sweetly. "Guess."

"Okay," he answered, not the least bit perturbed. "You got nice legs, beautiful eyes, good figure, cool colored hair..." She was blushing bright pink by now. "...and a certain reddish tint to your face that I'm just now noticing..." He grinned as she gave him a look. Then he pretended to think for a moment until he nodded his head slowly, as if a conclusion had finally been reached. "Yep, y' gotta be an 'Lizabeth. An Elizabeth McTannel t' be exact"

Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open in shock. "How?" she gasped. His smug look only increased at her disbelief. "What are you? A psychic?" Her emerald eyes widened further and their depths almost made him recoil in their familiarity. A look of fear found its way onto her pretty features, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "A stalker?"

"Non." He held up a small black wallet before her. "Jus' a t'ief."

"You stole my—." She reached out and grabbed the little leather object from his hand, immediately checking to see if her money was still there.

He watched with an amused expression. "If Remy wanted t' steal de lovely lady's money, he wouldn't have bothered t' give her wallet back, non?"

She glared at him angrily, putting the wallet into her purse. "When did you take it?" Her voice was cold, threatening.

"When I bumped inta y' after y' got your order." He watched the realization bloom on her face.

"You made me spill my coffee... Then you insisted on buying me another cup. You used apologizing as an excuse to sit with me..." She looked shocked at the revelation.

"I know. Kill two birds wi't one stone. Get a wallet an' a pretty girl." He also knew that arrogance was seeping from his pores. But no matter, so was the charm.

"You bumped into me on _purpose_!"

"Yup."

"Ugh, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Don't worry..." He looked down, searching his pockets. "I t'ink I have one o' dose barf bags de airlines like t' give out somewhere..."

His fake sincerity was too much and, unexpectedly, she burst out laughing, though it had a decidedly nervous edge to it. "You really are on of a kind!" she managed between giggles.

He smiled and began to stand. "Well, I t'ink my work here is done. Time for me t' move on an' terrorize some more be'utiful women."

"You're leaving?"

"Yup. Check out for m' hotel is at 10:00am." He looked down at his watch. "An' dat leaves me exactly half an' hour to get dere an' get out."

"Oh," was all she could manage, being taken aback by the abrupt ending to the conversation.

"Bye!" he said, somehow working some cheerfulness into his voice despite the unnerved feelings inside of him. Turning, he deposited his garbage in a nearby container with the words 'Thank you' thoughtfully printed on it, and left.

"Bye.." she called weakly after him, not quite sure how she should respond. "Wow. Was it something I said?" she mumbled. "That was really weird. And after all that he didn't even ask for my number." She stared after him until he disappeared beyond the view of the restaurant windows.

§ ¨ © ª

The smile faded from Remy's mouth the moment he knew he was out of the redhead's view. He walked quickly down the crowded street, trying to ignore the queasy feeling all the moving people created with his spatial sense, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He'd had to get out of there. The green eyes on the femme had been so brilliant, so deep in their richness that he'd felt like he might fall into them. But they hadn't been hers. They had been Rogue's. The perfect shade of emerald. Cold, judging, hating as she sentenced him to die alone in a deserted, unforgiving, wasteland. And he had run from them now as he then, running through endless drifts of snow trying to escape the image of them in his mind, finally stopping only when exhausted drove him to his knees at the foot of the Citadel.

Remy knew the girl in McDonalds wasn't really Rogue. But those eyes made his heart believe she was, bringing him back to the painful memories. So he had left, albeit a bit abruptly, but it was all he could do. Somebody bumped into him on the bustling city street bringing him back to himself. On reflex he automatically checked his pockets to make sure his wallet hadn't been swiped. Still there. Good.

The sprawling monolith of the hotel rose before him and Remy pushed through the rotating doors at the front to find himself in a busy lobby. He swung over to the left, just barely making it into the full elevator before the doors closed. Plush, red carpeting covered the floor and he could feel it sink a bit under his weight. 

The walls surrounding him were made out of mirrors and Remy stared at his reflection, singling it out from among the other passengers'. He was more critical of it now, than he had been earlier. The face that looked back at him was a bit thinner than it should have been, cheeks sunken in a little too much. He'd lost a lot of weight between starving in Antarctica and being deathly ill with pneumonia. Enough weight that despite his hard work to gain it back and find health again, he was still shy of the normal scale reading by 10 or 15 pounds. Remy had always been lanky at best, standing at 6'1 and having a lean frame, but now he was outright skinny. He actually scared himself sometimes when he took off his clothes and found bones protruding under his skin in places where there should be flesh to hide them. Of course, growing up an orphan on the streets of New Orleans, Remy was no stranger to starvation... but it had been so long since he'd last been forced to experience it. It wasn't something you ever got used to.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips and he averted his eyes from the reflective glass. It would be better soon. He just needed time. Given another month he should be back to normal. Physically at least. The ringing of the elevator bell interrupted his thoughts as it signaled its stopping. Stepping out onto the 13th floor, Remy wandered down the hallway to his room.

Inside everything was exactly as he had left it. Collapsing onto the soft bed, he took off his sunglasses and retrieved his wallet from a pocket in his tight jeans. Going to a particular compartment, he pulled out a single tattered playing card from between the brown leather. The queen of hearts stared solemnly at him from her place on the marred cardboard. The edges were frayed and a whole corner was missing. There was also a big line through the middle of it where Remy had angrily ripped it once, and then later carefully taped it back together. But despite all this, this one card had the power to send him into a blind rage... or leave him in a deep pool of depression. It was the card Rogue had given him as a symbol of her love before she had found out about his involvement in the Mutant Massacre.

Flipping it over in his hands, Remy was careful not to do further damage. She had promised to love him unconditionally, despite the dark secrets the he held within him, but once she'd found out about the atrocities he'd been a part of, she'd left him to die. How dare she make him believe that he had a chance at true happiness, at true love, only to viciously rip his heart from his chest when he was most vulnerable? He hated her for that. And still, despite it all, he couldn't help but love her too.

He sighed, disgusted with himself, and rolled over to look at the clock radio on the nightstand. Fifteen minutes until checkout. What he supposed to do until then? His stuff was already packed and he didn't want to leave until only a minute before checkout, just to see if he could annoy the desk clerk. Tapping his fingers restlessly against the bed, his eyes wandered aimlessly across the room. And stopped abruptly on the phone that sat innocently on the nightstand. There was someone he could call. It had been a while since he'd talked to her and it would be nice to find out how she was.

Sitting up quickly and grabbing the phone before he could change his mind, Remy dialed a familiar number. One ring. Two. He hoped desperately that she would be the one to pick up.

"Hello?" a female voiced asked. A smile spread across his face.

Today was his lucky day.

Or so he thought.

"'Lo Stormy. What's u—"

"Remy! Your timing could not be more perfect!"

A frown replaced the gleeful expression. Something was wrong. "What de matter 'Roro?" he questioned cautiously.

"The X-Men have a... situation that requires the use of your... special expertise."

"Special expertise?" He couldn't help the suspicion and sarcasm that found its way into his tone.

"Yes. As you know the X-Men tend to lack in stealth. We are somewhat notorious for making our presence know. Unfortunately, our newest mission involves a sort of breaking and entering. Considering your background, your help would be very valuable."

"What would de X-Men want wit' a B&E? An' why can' y' do it. You were a t'ief once too."

"I was never as skilled at that as you were. Picking pockets was always more of my forte." There was a hesitance in her voice that perked his suspicion.

"Come on 'Roro. I know y' too well t' miss dat you're not tellin' me de whole story. What de real reason y' want m' help?"

There was a long pause on the other line. Then, "Remy, are you sitting down?"

He didn't like the strange tone of her voice. "Yah, why?"

"Are you holding anything breakable... or chargeable in your case?"

"Jus' de phone. What aren' y' tellin' me 'Ro?" His patience was running out.

"We found Rogue." Three words. Three incredibly blunt and painful words.

He felt his breath catch in his throat and he had to force himself to inhale. This was the last thing he needed. "So what does dat have t' do wit' me?" he asked angrily when he could breath properly again.

"...You may be able to provide some... insight into the situation because of your past... history... " She sighed in frustration as if she didn't know how exactly to phrase what she was trying to say. Finally she just spit it out. "We believe she is with Sinister."

He was half-conscious of the stream of curses that flew out of his mouth in half a dozen languages as the realization slammed into him. He failed altogether to notice the pink glow flowing from his hand where it rested on the bed into the comforter he was sitting on—at least not until it exploded, throwing him onto the floor. Somehow he managed not to pull the phone out of the wall. "Ow!" he whined as he landed loudly on his side.

"Remy? What was that?" came the concerned voice on the other line.

"Not'in'"

"Remy... I know this is hard for you, but despite what she'd done, as hard as it is to admit it, she does deserve a chance to be heard. I am very angry with her, but she is still an X-Man, as are you. And the X-Men look after their own."

"Yeah, yeah, save de speeches Stormy. I know."

"So you will help?"

A resigned sigh and, "Got no choice. I'd never forgive myself if I let dat madman, Essex, hurt her."

He could almost imagine Storm nodding in understanding to fill the brief pause. "I knew I could count on you my friend."

"What 'bout de other X-Men. Dey agree to me t' me helpin' out?" He deliberately avoided saying 'coming back.' He didn't plan on staying with the team any longer than was absolutely necessary.

"They... do not yet know. I believe they will tolerate it though. Where are you Remy? Will it take you long to get here?"

"Non. I'm in Manhattan."

"Good. I'll expect you here by lunchtime. Good bye until then." And then she hung up before he could argue with her. The dial tone blared almost accusingly in his ear as he picked himself up off the floor and hung up the phone. He sighed heavily as he stared at the scorched bed and noticed that, according to the clock, he had only five minutes left until checkout. Reaching down, he lifted the charred blanket off the floor and dropped it in a heap on the bed. He was about to turn and gather his luggage to leave when something on the floor caught his eye.

It was the Queen of Hearts.

And a new, long, black scorch-mark was visible on its face.

Another scar to add to the collection.

To be continued…


	2. Default Chapter Title

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Part 2

He stared out the window, a strong feeling of foreboding weighing him down as the cab pulled up to the extravagant mansion. He tried to tell himself that he shouldn't care what these people thought of him, but he couldn't. For some strange reason it mattered. The car stopped and Remy LeBeau had to force himself to pay the driver and get out. Instinctively, he knew that he should get as far away from this place as he could. He should run and run and never stop until the mansion was barely a dot on the horizon. Too bad he wasn't at liberty to listen to that tempting little voice in his head. There were people who needed him, and there were issues that needed to be resolved, no matter how intimidating.

The mansion where the X-Men based their operations was a rather breathtaking sight. Room upon room stretched out into a mammoth sized structure that spoke of riches, wealth and greatness. Hardly the location anyone would suspect of being the X-Men's headquarters, especially under the guise of a university for the "gifted."

Glancing down at his Rolex, Remy saw that the time was just a little past noon. Considering that he'd had to stop on the way here to rent a safe for the gem he'd stolen the night before, he'd made pretty good time. Maybe his luck would hold out and most of the X-Men would be out for lunch in Salem Center. Stiffly, he wandered up the front stairs and watched the doorbell warily as he reached out to push it, as if it would bite him the moment he put his guard down. His small travel bag slipped in his sweaty hands and he had to change his grip on it to keep the luggage from falling. Distantly there was the ringing of the bell followed by the gentle thumping of footfalls upon wood. Remy waited tensely as the person on the other side of the door paused to open it. Finally the heavy wood swung back on its hinges to reveal... a complete stranger.

The woman who stood framed in the doorway was of Spanish heritage. Her skin was tanned darkly and her hair hung behind her head in thick braids gathered back at the nape of her neck. Cold, brown eyes stared at him, the expression on her face clearly indicating that she was annoyed at having been bothered. "Can I help you?" she asked, her tone bored and even slightly sarcastic.

"Sure can, chere." Remy smiled at her, mentally switching into urbane mode in an attempt to hide his discomfort with being here. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for more information.

"I'm here t' see a friend o' mine. Goes by de name o' Stormy."

A flash of recognition crossed over her countenance. "You must be Remy. Storm told me to expect you," she said simply.

"Dat be me. An' y', my bea'tiful petite are...?"

"Dr. Cecilia Reyes," she supplied flatly. No welcome in the tone, no warmth. Just business.

As she stepped aside to allow him to enter, Remy couldn't help but mutter, "Doctor, hmm? Sure hope your bedside manner's better den y' welcoming policies." That earned him an icy stare as he walked passed her and entered the room. He glanced about expecting to see the place exactly as he'd left it, and then froze in shock as he saw the complete opposite. 

The giant room was empty. Utterly and completely... empty. "What de...?" he trailed off as he sputtered somewhat speechlessly at the unexpected sight. Cecilia was smiling smugly at the break in his bravado. "What happened here?" he finally managed, swallowing his pride in awe.

"Operation: Zero Tolerance happened." Her face hardened considerably at the mention of the words and he didn't miss the undercurrent of anger in her voice as she continued. "Government program led by a madman named Bastion. He raided the mansion and stripped it dry." She shrugged, though the expression held no sense of indifference.

"Sounds like y' ain't particularly fond o' de guy."

Her gaze darted to him. "Well, aren't you perceptive." Brown eyes narrowed bitterly. "He took my life away. I'd say that gives me the right to hate him."

"Yeah, I'd say it does," Remy replied quietly. Ouch. He'd sure struck a nerve, and he'd struck it awfully hard. Even when he wasn't trying, he had the ability to get under people's skin. That was fine for people like Cyclops, who needed someone to loosen them up and teach them not to take everything so seriously, but he didn't even know this girl. He had enough enemies without making new ones. But still, he had to wonder exactly what Bastion had done to her.

"Storm's waiting for you upstairs. I'll take you to her room," Cecilia said breaking into his thoughts.

"T'anks, but I'll find it m'self. I 'member de way." She shrugged nonchalantly and left him to follow through on his words.

§ ¨ © ª

The corridor of the women's wing was completely deserted. He wondered distantly where everyone was as he passed door after door and neither heard nor saw any sign of life. 

Suddenly he stopped. This had been Rogue's room. Feeling as if he were glued to the spot where he stood, he reached up and touched the cool, dark wood of the door. His heart melted within his chest. "Aaaw Roguie... how is it dat y' managed t' mean s' much t' me? Never t'ought I would love 'gain after Beladonna... Den I met y' an' realized dat Bela wasn' even true love..." He had his head resting against the door now and his eyes closed as he let memories wash over him. Then he straightened abruptly. "But y' made y' choice, non? Now I gotta learn t' live wit' it." He paused for a second, his mood shifting slightly. "If y' couldn't see dat I've changed and dat I love ya... den maybe it just your loss." He turned, fingers trailing across the wood as he walked on down the hall to Storm's room.

One knock was all it took to bring Ororo to the door. Sweeping it open swiftly, the tall, dark woman immediately gathered him into a hug. A smile lit his face. "Hey Stormy," he greeted, though his words came out muffled through her hair. "Nice t' see y' too."

"I told you," she said as she backed away, grinning, "do not call me that."

"Hey, I t'ink I'm entitled. Been a while, non?"

"Yes. Too long."

Silence. He watched as she gave him the once over, trying to guard the worried expression that sought to make itself known on its features. She had obviously noticed his gauntness. "How about you my friend?" A hint of concern flickered in her eyes. 

"Don' worry 'bout me. I fine. Take more dan subzero temperatures to stop dis Cajun, non?"

She winced at the reference and he instantly regretted the comment. _Go 'head Remy, would you like ketchup wit' dat foot in your mouth?_

"So, um, where's the rest o' de team?" he asked hurriedly, changing the subject. "Far's I c'n see, dis place's almost deserted. 'Cept f'r de new girl I met downstairs o' course."

"I gave the X-Men the afternoon off and ...encouraged them to leave for a while. They were told to be back by dinner. Only Sara and Cecilia decided to stay."

"Sara? Anot'er new member?"

Storm gave him a strange look. "We have much to discuss Remy. I told the X-Men to leave so that we would have time to do so." With a graceful step to the side she gestured into her room. "Come inside and make yourself comfortable. This might take a while."

§ ¨ © ª

"She's been dere how long!?" Remy asked, pausing momentarily in his pacing to glance over at Storm where she sat in an elegant, white, wicker chair.

"Hank found her mutant signature early this morning, but we have no way of knowing how long she was there before Cerebro detected her."

"An' y' sure it Sinister's place?"

"We can't be certain. Cerebro isn't really functioning at full capacity yet. That is beside the fact that Cerebro shouldn't even be able to detect Sinister in the first place."

"Not functioning at full capacity?" They'd already discussed how Hank had somehow managed to catch Sinister's signal earlier that morning while working on Cerebro, despite the fact that that should be impossible. There was only one explanation that satisfied Remy. It was a trap. They knew that, but what could they do? Rogue could be hurt.

"Yes. It was stolen with the rest of the technology here at the mansion. The X-Men only recently managed to retrieve it from a government warehouse and it hasn't been fully tested and rebooted yet."

"Oh. So it could be a mistake, right? De results aren' exact." He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"Yes. We cannot be certain until we take a closer look in person. In addition, since we know that Cerebro cannot really detect Sinister, we have no way of determining if he is really involved. It could be someone else pretending to be him, sending out a false signal." she noted.

Remy nodded once and resumed his pacing. He didn't really believe Storm's idea about a 'Sinister impersonator'. He just had a feeling that the crazy geneticist was really the one involved in this. A stream of curses in French rolled through his mind. This was bad. His deal with Essex had destroyed everything that he had ever loved and cared for. Well almost everything. He glanced briefly at Stormy. Sinister had effectively decimated the majority of his life. He'd be damned if he was going to let that madman take Rogue too. It didn't matter if she hated him. It didn't even matter if he hated her back. What mattered was that Sinister had her and he refused to allow anyone to be tortured by that man. Least of all someone he had once cared about so much. Besides, maybe she didn't hate him. She _had_ gone to Antarctica a couple of times after the Trial, or so Wolverine's nose said, and she sure wasn't there to sight see. It was a slim thread of hope, but it was something. Enough to wrap around his heart and hold it together.

"Remy. Please stop pacing. You are making me dizzy."

He paused and turned to face her, forcing himself to shake off his thoughts and come back to the real world. "Sorry Stormy. Just a little on edge." 'On edge' was an understatement. 'On edge' was when you were in the middle of a particularly dangerous pinch and your cover could be blown at any moment. He was way past that point. He was over the edge and now falling off the cliff. 

Remy's heart felt like it would beat out of his chest and the blood tickled feverishly in his veins. That was to say nothing of the muscles that were so tightly twined he thought they would snap. Mention the name 'Sinister' and this was his typical reaction. Actually, come to think of it, 'Rogue' could also arouse such an effect. The two combined was not a good thing.

And then there was Sara, whom he had recently found out was also a Morlock. The same Morlock he had saved when he'd been thrust into the middle of the Massacre with no way out years ago.

Storm eyed him for a moment and then glanced at a clock on the wall. "I believe it is time to go. I have arranged a meeting at 5:00pm with the X-Men. We should be right on time."

Remy suddenly felt immeasurably worse but nodded and followed Storm out the door. She dropped back when he emerged from her room to walk side by side with him. Gentle fingers intertwined with his sweaty hand and he looked over at Ororo only to find her gazing intently at him. "It will be fine," she said with such force that he was almost inclined to believe her. "If anybody can handle this, you can, Remy." He wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that but it was comforting nonetheless.

They descended the stairs. Somehow, he would make it through this.

§ ¨ © ª

Storm led the way into the war room as Remy mentally composed himself. A mask fell over his features and he reflexively reinforced his mental shields, both to keep telepaths out and to stop the flow of emotions his empathic abilities would normally allow in. Ahead of him, Storm entered the room. He could hear Archangel calling out teasingly to her as she rounded the corner. "There you are, Storm. We were beginning to think you stood us u—" he broke off abruptly as he noticed Remy. The sentence hung awkwardly in the air as all eyes focused on the man standing casually in the doorway, his stance giving away nothing of his nervousness. And then it was like a spell broke as a half dozen voices tried to speak at once.

"Gambit?"

"What are _you_ doing here?!"

"I thought you were still in New Orleans! Isn't that where Storm said you were...?

A few eyes narrowed angrily at him, a few were opened wide in shock, but everyone had one emotion written clearly on their faces. Surprise. They hadn't known he was coming. He gave Storm a questioning, sideways glance but she wasn't looking at him. She must have had her reasons for not telling the X-Men to expect him. He returned his gaze to the assembled crowd, sweeping over them. Besides Storm and himself there was Archangel, Iceman, the Beast, Psylocke, Cecilia Reyes, somebody he didn't recognize but figured was Maggott from Storm's description earlier, Wolverine, and... and...

A voice managed to find its way through the droning mumble of comments. It was cold, and gravely, and full of bitterness. "So, I see ya found the Gene Traitor, huh Windrider?" It was hardly a quiet snarl, but the vehemence it carried allowed it to be heard clearly over the now dying exclamations of shock.

Gambit felt as if the blood was freezing in his veins and almost shivered as he turned to look at the speaker and realized who it was. Bones. Bones everywhere, sticking out at odd, disjointed angles. And hate. It was written on every angle of her face, present in every movement she made. And he could feel it even through his strong mental shields. It was pungent, and sharp, and dirty, and choking. He tried to push it out of his mind, tried to force his empathic abilities to ignore it, but he couldn't. It was just so strong.

The girl stood staring at him contemptuously, each hand gripping a bone dagger tightly. Dropping lower, she assumed a fighting stance, eyes watching him warily, like those of a predator waiting to pounce on its prey.

He recognized her immediately.

"Sara?" he breathed stupidly. It was all his brain could manage through the thick fog of emotions she conjured within it.

"My name," she snarled coldly, "is Marrow."

"I'm so sorry...," he said, visions of the Morlock Massacre churning through his mind. Visions of innocent people being slaughtered. Even women. Even children. "I didn' mean t'... I didn' know..."

"Sorry won't bring back the Morlocks that _you_ killed!" she shrieked. "But they will have their revenge through me, Murderer. Don't worry. I promise ta make yer death slow and painful..." Her hand tightened around the long bone she held and in a flash of movement she reached back to throw it. Remy dodged, diving to the floor and expecting the dagger to fly by above him. But it never did. Surprised, he looked up to see Wolverine sitting on top of her, pinning her to the floor and aiming three, long, jagged claws menacingly at her bare throat.

"Lay off of Gumbo, ya hear?" he growled in a deep guttural tone. It was obvious he and Sara weren't exactly the best of pals.

"You would defend the Gene Traitor?" she asked, a look of shock and disgust warping her features. Her eyes narrowed angrily. "Then you are a traitor as well," she threatened quietly. Wolverine tensed visibly, muscles tightening and claws moving just a bit closer to the exposed jugular.

"You watch yer tongue girl, or ya might lose it." She simply laughed, a bitter cackle, in reply.

"Yeah? You can't protect the traitor all the time old man. I _will_ have my vengeance." She turned to stare at Gambit who now stood ready with three cards in hand. Her intense gaze bore into him and she spoke very slowly and deliberately, letting the hate drip off of each syllable. "Be afraid Gene Traitor. Be very afraid. The moment ya let yer guard down... I'll be there." A wicked smile split her lips then and she turned back to face Wolverine, dropping the bones she held and raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. Wolverine didn't move. He stared at her as if he were waiting for an excuse to bring his claws across the few centimeters that separated them from her throat.

"Logan!" Storm ordered. "Release her."

Slowly, predatorily, Wolverine got up and backed away. Within seconds Sara was on her feet and stalking out of the room. An insidious smile crossed her lips as she passed by Gambit, pausing only long enough to growl out a threat. "Remember Murderer, I'll be watching ya." He almost shivered. This was the same girl he had rescued years ago, and if it came down to a fight between them... he just wasn't sure he could hurt her. He'd caused her so much pain already.

Gradually the gazes in the room turned to rest heavily on Remy again, with Marrow no longer present to occupy their attention. The tension in the air was so thick he felt like it would swallow him up if he didn't do something. He was just about to speak to break the silence when Storm cut in and took the initiative. "I think it is time we began," she said loudly, pulling the attention of the room's occupants to herself. "As you all know, our enemy, Sinister, is suspected of holding Rogue captive. At 8:30 this morning, Cerebro detected her mutant signature in the immediate vicinity of Sinister. Since normally we are unable to detect Sinister, we are unable to be sure if it is really him. According to Henry, he was simply adjusting some of the settings on Cerebro when it picked up their signatures. I am planning a rescue mission, which I think it would be wisest to keep covert. Because of this we will not be leaving until nightfall and we will try our best to enter Sinister's base, that is if it is really Sinister, unnoticed. Which brings us to Gambit. His experience with infiltrating high security buildings and his knowledge of Sinister make him a valuable asset to this mission, which is why I invited him—"

"You expect us to go on a mission with this traitor? How can you trust him after what he did to us? ...After what he did to me?" Archangel interrupted angrily.

"Remy has proven himself to us on numerous occasions as an X-Man," Storm replied harshly. There was a slight pause and when she spoke again her voice was softer, sadder, holding a hint of resignation. "But I understand your concern even if I do not agree with it. That is why I am only taking a very limited number of people on this mission, of which you are not one. It we are going to do this quietly, a big group will only endanger us."

"Then who, may I ask, are the members of this highly exclusive team?" That from the Beast who, up until now, had been uncharacteristically quiet.

"Wolverine, Gambit, and myself."

Throughout the whole procession, Bobby Drake had been standing silently in the corner brooding. That was about to change. "Are you all crazy?" he yelled in exasperation, "Hasn't _he,_" Bobby looked pointedly at Gambit, "caused Rogue enough pain already? And you're calling him back to do more?"

The reaction in Gambit was immediate, his eyes narrowed, their red color brightening to glow eerily. His stance became threatening without him even noticing and the hand that didn't hold the three cards was balled tightly into a fist. "Are you insinuatin' dat I would hurt Rogue?" he rasped quietly.

Bobby seemed to hesitate for just a second before he answered. "That's exactly what I'm insinuating!" The room was silent as the two men stared at each other. It really wasn't like Bobby to be so bold.

"Y' wanna take dis outside, Drake?"

"Enough!" yelled Storm. A burst of tremendous thunder cracked to emphasize her command. Both turned to face her. "This is not open to debate. Henri, how long until the proper modifications are made to the portable Cerebro unit?"

"An hour possibly?"

"Good. We leave then."

Gambit had turned back to eye Iceman warily, eyes still glowing as they bore into the younger man. The three cards glowed slightly in his hand, the minute charge he pumped into them being an unconscious reaction.

"Remy!" He looked over at Storm. The unspoken words were evident on her expression. _Back down and avoid trouble. Now._

"Fine!" he barked out, and whirled to stomp out of the room, that is if it could be called 'stomping.' His steps made no noise against the metal floors. Behind him Bobby muttered, "Yeah, you better run," and Remy nearly turned around. But he forced himself to keep walking. A fight would only make things worse.

§ ¨ © ª

The sun was low in the sky and there was a slight breeze that accompanied the dropping temperature of dawn. There was still a lot of light out and he had to squint his extra sensitive eyes slightly, but he didn't mind. Sighing heavily, Remy looked out over the expansive grounds of the Xavier Institute. From his vantage point on the mansion's roof it looked rather impressive. Changing positions slightly, he drew his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on the arms that were crossed over them. 

When he'd been a member of the X-Men, he'd often spent similar moments in this exact same place. Then it had been quiet moments of shame for the horrific secret he hid from those he loved. And now? Now the secret was out—or at least most of it was. Now he wondered if he'd ever really belonged with the X-Men. He had hurt too many people to be a hero. Of course there were other X-Men who'd had shady pasts, but they had reformed. He hadn't. He had regretted ever having been a part of the Mutant Massacre of course, he'd learned to hate the selfishness he used to have and even grow out of it a bit, he'd found the joy in helping others, the utter satisfaction of it. But he would always be the rebel, always the thief, always the outcast in a world of heroes. In a way he regretted that, but he was what he was. He couldn't change it, just learn to live with it and be happy. The Massacre was over. There was nothing he could do about it now. He had put it behind him, learned and changed from it. Why couldn't the people in the mansion below him do the same?

He didn't want forgiveness. He didn't want people to forget what he had done. He just wanted them to move on despite it and stop concentrating on the past.

Was that so much to ask?

Apparently it was.

Another deep sigh. He'd known coming to the mansion would be hard, but this was even worse than he'd imagined. He hadn't known on the drive up to the mansion that Sara would be here. If he had, maybe he wouldn't have come. Maybe he would have just went after Rogue on his own.

The sun was setting rapidly now, streaking the sky with brilliant shades of pink and orange and yellow. Violently bright colors of emotions so strong that they were nearly overwhelming... He was an empath. It was a curse and a blessing. Today it had been a curse. He'd felt so much hate downstairs. Granted, it was mostly from a few choice people, particularly Bobby, Warren, and Sara... but it had been strong enough that he felt as if his psyche had been burned. And now he was playing with the scar. Some of the team hadn't been around during the Massacre—Joseph, Cecilia, Maggott, Psylocke. Most of them couldn't hate him because they either didn't know him or they didn't understand the magnitude of death and pain that there had been. He'd sensed mostly confusion and indifference from them. The Beast seemed... unsure of what he felt, like he was angry at Remy but couldn't quite bring himself to hate him. Logan wasn't happy but he didn't have vehemence for Remy either. Maybe he had experienced enough to know what it was like to accidentally cause so much death? 

And that left one person unaccounted for. Storm.

He wondered at that. She had been the Morlock's leader. He'd earned her hatred for playing a part in slaying her people. She had been one of his closest friends but he had never told her of his involvement in the Massacre. Yet she bore no malevolent feelings toward him. At least none that he could sense. Why?

Remy felt someone land lightly on the roof behind him with his kinetisthetic sense. The sense was an extension of his normal powers, creating a low-level field of energy around him that allowed him to sense and track the objects around him.

He didn't turn.

"Remy," came the voice, light and free as the wind. "It is time."

He nodded, but still didn't move. "C'n I ask y' somet'ing 'Roro?

"Of course."

"Why don' y' hate me f'r de... de whole Massacre t'ing?"

"I did hate you." He turned suddenly only to find her staring at him, a gentle smile quirking her full lips. "But then I came to my senses." He raised a questioning eyebrow and she proceeded to explain. "My initial reaction was anger and a sense of betrayal." Turning again, he put his back to her, suddenly very uncomfortable. "But then the reality of the situation struck me and I realized that you might be dead. My heart shattered at that thought and I understood that I could not hate you. I treasured you as a friend too much and more than that... I trusted you. After realizing this, the only remnant of the earlier negative feeling I bore against you was shame for having felt that way at all." A slender hand slid onto his shoulder, comforting him with a gentle squeeze and warming up the chill in his bones temporarily. "You are too hard on yourself Remy LeBeau. Given time the X-Men will accept you as one their own again."

He tilted his head and squinted up to look into Storm's chocolate colored face. "Y' t'ink so?" he questioned.

"Yes. I do."

There was a momentary pause as he thought about this. "It not really dem I'm worried 'bout." She seemed to catch his meaning.

"I'm sorry about Rogue, Remy, but if she has not realized her error than she is a fool." He turned sharply to look at her.

"You are not an evil man," she continued. "If you were, I would have died a young girl in the Shadow King's grasp."

There was another pause. "T'anks Stormy," he finally said.

"Of course," she answered. "And Remy?"

"Yeah?"

"Do not call me that." 

He smiled and stood, reaching up to the hand on his shoulder and grasping it in his own. Together they left the roof to the falling darkness.


	3. Default Chapter Title

****

Part 3

It was dark, and the street was empty. Neither of which disturbed Remy LeBeau as he crouched in the shadows with Storm and Wolverine. His red-on-black eyes absorbed light and cut through the dark easily, boring into their target. A federal savings bank. The building was a square structure, its front face covered almost entirely with glass. Twin columns stood like sentinels guarding the double-door entrance. The lights were off inside and the bank sat quiet and deserted, pretending to be no more extraordinary than any of the other buildings nearby. But Remy knew better.

"Y' sure it under de bank?" the man who went by the name of Gambit in times such as these asked. His eyes glowed an uncanny red, hinting at the whirlwind of emotions within him.

"Yes. The origin of the signal Cerebro believes to be Sinister is directly below it." Storm answered quietly, looking down at a tiny, hand-held computer that blinked and flashed in the dark.

There was a soft growl as Wolverine crinkled his nose. "No... It's definitely the _real_ Sinister. His scent's all over this street, maybe a week old. I'd know that stench anywhere."

Gambit couldn't help the sharp intake of air upon hearing this. So it really was Essex. He stared again at the bank, its form ominously lit by the street lamps lining the sidewalk around it, and felt the gathering rage as he imagined the geneticist dissecting innocent victims... dissecting Rogue. 

"If I know Sinister..." he said after a moment, "den he have a secret entrance somewhere nearby... but it gonna be real well hidden. I t'ink our best bet is t' jus' break into de bank an' go down t'rough de floor..." He turned to glance at Storm and saw her hesitation. "Don' worry Stormy... ain't like we gonna steal anyt'ing. We jus' passin' t'rough, neh?" He watched her consider this for a moment before she finally nodded her consent.

A mischievous grin slithered across Remy's face as he shuffled through the contents of his bag. This was something he could handle. B&E's were his specialty and he'd been sure to bring all the necessary equipment. All the best, most expensive, high-tech equipment. It sure wouldn't do to be caught because he didn't have good enough tools. But as important as nice equipment was, none of that would mean anything if he needed to break into Sinister's base directly. That place was sure to be protected with security systems even his nifty gadgets couldn't help against. It would be a very big challenge, despite his skill. But a bank? A bank was a piece of cake.

"It be best if I go in first t' disable de security. More people'll only increase our chances o' detection. I'll call y' when I'm ready f' ya." He tapped the small silver combadge he wore. The one that Henry had whipped together at the last minute for communications.

Storm nodded her agreement, but held his gaze a moment longer to give him a concerned, heartfelt look. "Be careful, my friend."

"Yeah, and ya better not 'accidentally' end up in the vault while yer at it Cajun," added Wolverine.

"Who? Me?" Remy grinned, treating them all with an innocent look. And then he was gone, slipping into the shadows as if they were a second skin.

§ ¨ © ª

The bank was well protected. Cameras peeked out from hidden corners in the building, straining to catch a glimpse of anyone who dared to cross their threshold. Mentally, Remy switched into thief mode, crouching just beyond the circle of light created by a street lamp. His emotions clenched together, huddled into a tight knot—anticipation, worry, fear, excitement—all thrown together into one volatile ball of anxiety. He pushed it away, forced it deep within himself, into a locked chest where it couldn't escape. 

A pretense of professionalism fell over him as his mind focussed on a single goal: breaking into the bank without being detected.

Unimportant details slipped away into oblivion, sorted out by his experienced brain. But they were never ignored so completely that he could miss some disguised sign of danger. Concentrating, he listened carefully to the world around him, noticing background noise and then ignoring it as such, but always paying enough attention to notice even a miniscule change. He felt detached in a way, yet completely exhilarated by the experience. He felt powerful, a being of focused energies and attentions captured so completely in his task that none could sway him, yet at the same time fearful. It was the fear that was his safeguard. The day he lost it was the day he got sloppy, the day he got caught, the day he possibly met his death. He was confident, yet not overly cocky. It was so easy for an outsider to mistake the two. He could not. To do so would mean failure, and failure was not an option. It never was for Gambit.

Slowly, carefully, he circled around the perimeter of the bank, searching with a trained eye for the perfect entrance. He desperately wished he had blueprints for this place; that would be the smart way to do a B&E, the safe way. Too bad he wasn't at liberty to be smart or safe. This was a rescue mission above all. An urgent rescue mission that required speed.

There... He stopped suddenly, spotting what he was looking for. A small metal door sat, sunken into the back of the bank and tucked away from any casual, passing glance. An entrance most likely used by employees. And therefore an entrance in the immediate vicinity of the alarm system, strategically placed so that employees could quickly disarm it upon entering. Perfect.

He could see a camera facing his chosen entryway, aimed so as to record the image of anyone who tried to use the door. No problem. Slipping his bag off his shoulder, Gambit pulled out a small black box that had on it a digital pad and display screen. No lights lit the buttons; that would make the object too easy to spot and threaten the discovery of the thief who used it. 

Creeping carefully around the range of the camera, Gambit got as close as he could without being detected. After pressing a few of the buttons whose locations he knew by memory, he softly set the object on the ground. A tiny green light blinked only once to indicate that the device was working, and then went dark to avoid attracting attention. If he had shown a flashlight on the display screen, he would have seen tiny digital numbers ticking off seconds, counting down the time remaining before the jamming device stopped doing its job. And what was that job? It froze the last image before the device was activated on the camera, so that no new input could be received. If the footage from the camera was casually reviewed later, it would simply seem as if nothing had changed during the time the little device was working. In reality, Gambit would have gotten in the bank and out, long gone before the camera started working properly again. 

He stepped back slightly and set his watch to match the countdown the camera would be frozen for. 15 minutes. Plenty of time if all went well. And if it didn't.... well, he would worry about that as it came.

He stepped silently up to the door, staring thoughtfully at it for a moment. His heart pounded a steady quick beat in his chest. It occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea what to expect on the other side. He didn't know what kind of security this place had, didn't know whether Sinister had set precautions or not.

Slitting his eyes, Gambit placed his gloved hands on the door. The kinetic field that always surrounded him extended outwards, feeling for movement beyond the door. He started on a large scale and then worked his way down, narrowing his field and tightening it. This was not easy for him; to use his powers to detect such subtle movements, but it was necessary. He just hoped he didn't miss a more obvious sign of danger while he was so lost in concentration.

His kinetic field grazed a long stream energy that he guessed was a laser. Normally he could only detect larger, moving objects, but the concentration of the energy allowed the laser to be barely perceptible. He focussed his field on the spot... located just beyond the door.

Sweat pouring down his face, Gambit opened his eyes and came back to reality. He took a moment to reorient himself and then went to work. _Gotta hurry_, he thought. _Wastin' too much time._ He moved carefully in front of the door as he pulled out a series of lock picks and other devices from their places in the many pockets that speckled the black, form-fitting suit he wore. It was his thieving costume; he hadn't worn his traditional X-Men one since Antarctica and didn't intend to start now. Besides, all his spare uniforms had been taken with the rest of the stuff in the Mansion by Bastion, and without the Shiar Equipment he wouldn't be able to make himself a new one. _And, _he thought to himself, almost smiling,_ do y' really t'ink fuchsia is the best color for sneakin' around in?_

Both the digital lock and the manual one were open within a minute, but he didn't enter right away. Most places had a camera or motion detector guarding the inside of every entrance. The jamming device he'd already used for the other camera should take care of the one on the other side of the door, since the device worked through metal and on a 10-meter basis. But that left the motion detector. Again, he rummaged through his bag, quietly of course, knowing exactly where the device he needed would be.

This one was also black, but was very flat, almost paper-thin. He pressed a button and slid it under the tiny crack that separated the door from the ground. _That'll take care o' de motion detector—if dere is one. Too bad de person who designed dis place didn' have de foresight t' make sure de door go all de way t' de ground, neh? Government'd never be so stupid in one o' dere secret facilities._ Actually, he was surprised the bank had been. It _was_ holding thousands of dollars and besides that it was supposed to be housing one of the greatest enemies the X-Men had ever faced. _So what gives?_

Gambit didn't have time for idle contemplation. Pulling out two mirrors, he went to work on dealing with the laser. Now he did open the door, but only pushed it slightly, sliding one of the mirrors around the heavy metal to the other side of it, and holding it there. The other he held on his side of the steel structure. He pushed the door a little more. Peering inside, he saw the laser beam, courtesy of the special structure of his unique eyes, and adjusted the mirrors accordingly, so that they would block the bright red stripe that cut across the floor. Then he pushed the door a little more. He went on like this, moving at a pace excruciatingly slow to his thumping pulse, until he had an opening wide enough to squeeze through.

The whole process took 3 minutes, and when it was done, he was inside, the door closed behind him, searching for the control panel for the security system. He found it and went to work. Another minute and that threat was also neutralized.

Taking a slow, measured breath he scanned the area. He was in a hall, a dark hall. But that didn't matter to his mutant eyes. What did matter was that there had been no motion detector at all. Only a camera and laser. For some reason that bothered him, and he couldn't place why. Normally he'd take the absence of a motion detector as a strike of good luck and move on... but tonight? It bothered him and some little voice inside screamed that something was wrong.

After scanning the area with his spatial sense and his normal senses to his satisfaction, he simultaneously checked his watch and turned on the communication badge he wore. Nine minutes and thirty seconds left before that camera outside came back on. Plenty of time. Hopefully.

There was the quiet sound of static as his communicator started working. It was silver and carved into the shape of an X with a circle around it. "K' Stormy, I'm ready f' ya. Jus' come in t'rough de employee's entrance 'round de back. Security's disarmed... 'cept f'r de cameras, but dat's taken care of." His voice was barely a whisper but sounded incredibly loud in the empty space.

"I understand," came the quick, but quiet, businesslike response. Remy had to fight a smirk. He had a feeling that Ororo was unconsciously falling back into the thief mentality from her earlier days. A pinch could do that to you. _Though dis ain't exac'ly a 'pinch',_ Gambit mused. They weren't going anywhere near the vault. Not that this was a job Remy would ever consider taking anyway. He made it a point to only steal from criminals and con men. It didn't exactly justify his chosen profession, but it eased the pressure on his conscience some.

His kinesthetic sense flared to life, alerting him of the wary approach of his teammates. He pushed the door open just in time to move aside and allow Storm and Wolverine to step in. "Nice bit o' machinery ya got there," rasped the short, stocky, Canadian as he gestured vaguely toward Gambit's camera jamming device outside.

"Top o' de line," the Cajun answered with a slight grin. "Dalsbury made." The other man nodded appreciatively at the information, and then turned to Storm.

"So? Where to, darlin'?"

"She is north of our position... maybe 20 meters, and obviously farther underground." A few silver strands of hair fell across Storm's face as she looked intently at the hand held Cerebro. A little gust of wind and they were gone, back in their place.

"Y' still gettin' a reading from Sinister?" Gambit asked, eyeing her curiously.

"Yes, but he is not in the same vicinity as Rogue. I assume he is in another part of his base."

Gambit took a deep, steadying, breath. He didn't like this. It just wasn't right. Sinister wouldn't allow himself to be detected like this, and, besides that, such detection should be impossible. Cerebro only worked on mutants and Sinister wasn't a mutant. Which seemed to mean that somebody might be trying to make the X-Men think they were Sinister—but that theory had already been disproved. Wolverine had smelled Sinister's scent. That couldn't be easily faked. There was only one other explanation. 

It was a trap. Simple as that. But they were the X-Men; they always walked into traps on purpose.

"We better be careful," Gambit commented. Both teammates nodded in agreement. From their expressions he could see they had come to the same conclusion as he had.

Storm glanced up the hall ahead of them. After a few meters it split into three different directions. Each new hallway was guarded by a camera. "Are they still active?" she asked, gesturing toward the devices that reached from the ceilings like mechanical appendages augmented with strange, watching eyes.

"Yah," he replied. "Dey're wired separate from de alarm system. I'd need t' find de surveillance room t' turn dem off." A grin slithered across his face and his eyes glinted just for a second. "Y' want me t' blow dem up?"

"No. That won't be necessary. I have a better way." She raised one hand in the air and reached up towards one of the cameras, closing her fist as if she were trying to will it to crush itself. But the camera remained in tact. Instead a small cloud of condensed fog formed around its lens, a thick, white, fluffy cloud that was so thick that Gambit couldn't even see the camera through it. He looked to the other hallways breaking off at the junction ahead and saw that the same thing had happened to the cameras guarding each of them.

"Show off," he accused, amusement playing in the tones of his voice.

"I am simply using the gift of my powers in the best possible way."

"Uh-huh. Ssuuuuure."

Storm ignored his sarcasm with a slight smile and began to walk forward until she reached the place where the hallways split. There she paused. "I do not know where the stairs are. We need to find them to get to the basement."

Wolverine walked pass Gambit to stop beside her. "Look darlin', we don't have time ta go wanderin' around in search of stairs. So either we let Gumbo blow us a hole in the floor here and get to the basement right away and then we look for Rogue's position, or we get directly over Rogue's position and then blow our way down. Yer choice. 'Sides, bank probably ain't even real. It may jus' be a cover for Sinister's base."

Gambit smiled at Wolverine's suggestion. He could feel the power aching to be released in his fingers. Explosions would be nice. He liked the possibilities. It would be faster and easier that way, and he wanted to get this all over with as fast as possible. The anxiety was slowly building up in him and he figured they had better find Rogue before he burst under the pressure.

Storm obviously didn't agree. She frowned down at the burly man next to her, delicate eyebrows creasing in thought. Finally she sighed heavily, a resigned look in her eyes. "Fine. We need to get to Rogue as fast as possible. Remy, you can blow us a hole in the floor here. But please try not to make the explosion any bigger than necessary."

He nodded grimly, realizing suddenly that he didn't really want to get any closer to confronting Rogue. Then the cards were in his hand, charged up, and released. A loud 'boom' reverberated through the space as part of the floor collapsed ahead of them. So much for stealth.

§ ¨ © ª

The lowest level of the bank was crowded with boxes of old files and papers. Spider webs drifted off the heavy concrete supports and hung in the way of the three figures that moved through it. There was an eerie silence, ominous and oppressive. The kind of quiet that is a precursor to an event of great importance. The kind that means someone's life is going to change. Permanently.

It was cold. Or at least that was what Gambit perceived. It could have just as easily been the chill of locking away all of his emotions, of turning his heart to ice. Ice. How appropriate when he was about to meet the woman who had abandoned him in the middle of a wasteland full of the stuff.

He was standing next to Storm and Wolverine staring at a spot on the concrete floor. A rather featureless spot that nevertheless caused every muscle in his body to tense.

"Y' sure dis de place?"

"Yes, she is almost directly under us." Storm peered at him with a worried expression over the Cerebro unit she was holding.

He didn't notice. His eyes were glued to the floor and his jaw was set, teeth pressed so hard together it almost hurt.

"Y' wan' me ta blow up de floor?"

"Ya sure yer okay, Gumbo?" Wolverine was also giving Gambit a worried look, though his was a bit less sympathetic and maternal.

"Yeah, jus' peachy." The sarcasm was biting.

He looked up to Storm, his questioning gaze restating the question he'd asked earlier. She nodded.

Within seconds three cards were in his hand, glowing with pink energy so bright it hurt to look at it. He glanced down at them briefly anyway, some strange curiosity wondering what the faces of them were. He'd always believed in the cards with some dim superstitious part of his mind that abandoned the idea that he made his own fate. Now he wished he didn't. In his hand were the Queen of Hearts, the Suicide King, and the Ace of Spades. He couldn't think of a worse combination if he tried.

And then he was throwing them, the three cards flying through the air and hitting the floor with deadly precision, just past the spot where Rogue was supposed to be. There was a burst of light and a brief flare that left a neat little hole in his wake. He stared at it for a second. And lost his tenuous control.

Gambit dissolved in seconds and he was Remy again, the soul tortured man who both loved and hated the woman he was trying to save. No more facade to keep him rational and calm. No more restraints. Unhindered, he leapt forward into the hole in the floor, not even looking in before he jumped.

Remy landed lightly, urgent calls from Storm and Wolverine following him. But he almost didn't hear them. He was staring at the one obscurity; a narrow bed built into one of the walls, which interrupted the smooth, featureless, steely room.

She was unconscious, expression blank in peacefulness. Long, wavy, chestnut hair fell over her shoulders, one sharp stripe of white running rampant through it. It was tangled, rogue strands falling across the face, telling so much about the woman they belonged to. She was clothed in some type of medical gown; the kind of thin white material that fell over every curve and line of the body that wore it.

He couldn't move. He tried—really. But all he could do was stare, until Wolverine's yells of "Ya okay, Bub?" got too loud to ignore. He managed to reply that he was, somehow, through a tight throat that, unbelievably, managed to make his voice sound semi-normal.

Carefully, deliberately, Remy forced himself to walk forward, slipping off the trademark trench coat that he wore over his thieving clothes. Slowly, avoiding any contact with her skin, especially since he was wearing his trademark gloves that left several of the fingers exposed, he wrapped the duster around Rogue's slim body, all the while forcing his mind to remain absolutely blank. It was too dangerous any other way; if he let himself actually register the situation that surrounded him, he wasn't sure if he would punch her for leaving him or kiss her because he'd missed her so much. Better to keep himself numb for now. Better to transform into Gambit again, holding a cool cloak of indifference and confidence around him for protection.

Gambit lifted her easily in his arms. His hands tingled slightly, pins and needles prickling over them but he ignored that, crediting the feeling to the anxiety that coursed through his veins. Distantly, he wondered if his pneumonia weakened lungs would take the strain. They did, and he walked back to the hole in the ceiling where Wolverine was now leaning over to watch him. Switching his grip on Rogue, Gambit pushed her up into Wolverine's grasp, brushing the Canadian's skin where the gloves of his costume met the sleeves. Wolverine disappeared for a moment with Rogue as he pulled her onto the level above and then returned to help Gambit up. Soon they were all in the basement of the bank and Gambit was holding Rogue in his arms. 

And not once had they encountered Sinister. From what Gambit knew of the villain, he was meticulous with security, and, since they were totally ignoring that security by coming in so headstrong, there should be at least half a dozen Marauder clones on their backs be now. Or a secret weapon shooting at them. Or something. But there was nothing, only still, unnerving silence. A silence that lasted even until they were out of the bank and long gone.

§ ¨ © ª

A crowd gathered around Remy, Rogue, Storm and Wolverine as they entered the mansion, filling the opening room with exclamations and questions. A fuzzy blue shape pushed through the mass of spandex clad people and Henry McCoy emerged, spectacles perched precariously on his nose. 

Remy looked up from the unconscious woman he held and met Beast's gaze. "Why isn' she wakin' up?" Remy demanded a bit frantically. Any harsh feelings he had toward Rogue were momentarily lost in his concern for her unresponsive state. Who knew what Sinister had done to her?

Hank's gaze softened, almost paternally, "I won't know until I get her to the medlab," he said gently, coaxingly. Remy forced himself to swallow and nodded. He began to walk quickly toward the lifts, following Hank's lead and ignoring the strain of Rogue's weight in his arms. The crowd followed with him until Hank turned around and held up his hands to stop them, saying something about needing to have room to work. Remy wasn't really listening.

Within 30 seconds they were in the medlab, all the other X-Men having been chased away by Henry, except for Cecilia, who was wearing a white lab coat. Remy gently laid the woman he carried on the small cot that sat between two other in the room. 

Unconsciously, he filed the details of the lab away. Most of the normal equipment was gone, but they seemed to have scrounged up the basic supplies. Gauze and a couple of bottles of medicine sat forgotten on a rollaway in the corner and Remy guessed that the cabinets in the room had probably been replenished some too. Hank would never let his lab fall into complete disuse.

Remy stepped back out of the way as Henry rushed over with a stethoscope and few other supplies. His big, paws moved with a speed, precision, and ability that seemed impossible for their cumbrous size. Cecilia stood at his side, conversing quietly with him, as she checked Rogue's blood pressure. Remy dropped into the shadows, forgotten and attempting to stay out of the way. He tried to be quiet and let the doctors work, but eventually the anticipation became too much and he spoke up. "Henry, what's wrong wit' her?" Beast turned around suddenly from where he was shining a light in Rogue's eye, as if he hadn't noticed that Remy was still in the room.

"Umm... I'm not exactly sure." He looked slightly embarrassed at his inability to properly assess Rogue's damage.

"Not exac'ly sure?" Remy repeated sarcastically. "You a doctor _an'_ a genius, neh? Can' y' tell when a person's sick?"

"She's not sick." Hank answered firmly and a bit defensively. "Though I can't say for sure without blood work, which is impossible due to Rogue's invulnerability. As far as I can ascertain, she is simply... sleeping."

Remy's eyes glowed in anger. "'An dat's de best y' can do?"

"Without the Shiar medical equipment? Yes." Hank's stare challenged Remy to contradict him, but the young man backed down, forcing himself to relax. Eventually, Hank returned his attention to his patient.

Remy stepped back further into the shadows. He wasn't helping here, only distracting Hank from taking care of Rogue, but he didn't want to leave. A part of him knew that if he did, he would probably never come back. Facing Rogue, now that was bad enough, but coming back and meeting the fear of rejection again? He didn't know if he'd be able to do that. Then there was the anger that burned inside of him. Some at Rogue for leaving him in Antarctica—and large, pulsing, black waves of it directed at Sinister for all the pain he'd caused him. It was almost all he could do not to break something—or blow something up, with all the adrenaline that was coursing through his blood. And even now, his fists were clenching and unclenching involuntarily at his sides.

Then there was the fact that he really didn't even belong here. He wasn't an X-Man... That life was over. Once a thief, always a thief. That life was something he had never given up, something he never would. And it conflicted with being a good little superhero. So what was he doing here?

Remy stood that way, features taunt and set, thoughts running at a furious pace through his head for a long time. The still woman lying on the hospital bed seemed to reach into his mind and force him to take a good look at himself and consider what he was. The small hope that maybe he could one day belong with these people shattered, almost before he realized it had even existed.

The doctors were at a stalemate, seemingly at a loss for what to do next. And Remy couldn't stand being here so close to Rogue any longer. If he didn't get away soon he was sure he would burst in an explosion of pent-up emotions and energy. Besides, his mind was made up. Silently, he backed up, slinking out of the room, dropping a small, thin card on one of the unused beds. 

Nobody even noticed he was gone.

§ ¨ © ª

On the way up to the spare room Storm had given him, Remy managed to, by some incredible stroke of bad luck, meet Iceman coming down the stairs. The young man glared at him angrily and Remy could feel the hatred radiating from him, residual smoke from a burning fire. Reflexively, he clamped down on his empathic sense, forcing the sensation out of his mind. By now both men had stopped walking, Bobby halfway down the stairs, Remy at the foot.

"You got a problem, mon ami?" Remy questioned dangerously. Silently he cursed his bad luck. This was the last thing he needed. Maybe he could just intimidate the boy and manage to get up the stairs without significant opposition. Otherwise, they might as well get the fight over with.

"Yes I do."

So Bobby was feeling brave today, so much for getting to his room without much trouble. Maybe he just needed to up the intimidation factor. He allowed his eyes to smolder an angry red against their black backdrop, exploiting the glowing effect of his mutation. Bobby flinched ever so slightly, but held his ground.

So he wanted to do this the hard way.

"Y' sure 'bout dat?" A single card appeared in Remy's hand, flipping lazily over his knuckles. His stance read casually confident, yet dangerously alert. Remy knew the threat was a gamble; it would either scare Drake into backing down or make him explode. Hopefully, the former would occur. He really didn't need a fight with an X-Man to punctuate this day. Not that he expected Iceman to be a problem. The boy was usually more talk than anything, to used to being told he wasn't anything special to have the self-confidence needed to make him a threat. Usually.

"Absolutely positive." A bluish-white ice slowly crept up Iceman's legs, spreading over the rest of his body. "I'm tired of you coming around here and ruining our lives. You did it to Warren, you did it to Rogue, and you did it to the rest of the team. No more. I'm not the weakling you remember Gambit. Zero Tolerance taught me something... taught me that I don't need to take garbage from scum like you! You don't deserve the X-Men—or Rogue! So either you leave now of your own free will... or I escort you out." The last sentence was almost a growl, the threat drawn out for effect.

Surprise was the only thing that saved Remy from irrepressible anger. This was not the Bobby he knew. This one was... hardened somehow, like he had recently been forced to realize that he could take action when needed, and felt obligated to do so. Like he had been forced to grow up and take charge of his life. Like maybe, he finally knew what it was like to have to take care of himself and others. One thing was for sure; Remy had missed a lot while he was gone. How much damage had OZT done, anyway?

Remy realized that there still might be a way to avoid a fight. He just had to catch Drake off-guard, make him momentarily forget about his anger long enough for Remy to get out of the situation. He climbed a few steps closer to Iceman, the other watching him warily. The temperature dropped noticeably several degrees and Remy's breath came out in puffs of white smoke.

A sardonic smile touched the corners of Remy's lips as he stopped three steps below Drake. "Don' bother, homme. I c'n save y' de trouble. I was jus' now on my way t' my room t' get my stuff, so I could leave, when y' got in my way. So if you don' mind, I be goin' now, hein?" He climbed past Drake, deliberately pushing into him as he passed. The cold from the contact seeped through his shirt, giving him the sudden urge to shiver. He repressed it. Behind him Iceman was still standing, a bewildered expression on his face, obviously having expected Remy to come at him violently rather than walk away. 

Remy was in the hall now, stalking angrily through the men's wing. He'd managed to avoid things getting ugly with Drake; that would have caused more trouble than it was worth, but he just wished everybody would leave him alone. All he wanted to do was get out of here as fast as he could. The emotional strain just wasn't worth staying for. The stakes were too high. His life was becoming less and less of the game he had always imagined it to be, and that meant it was time to start a new life.

He pushed into the room that Ororo had insisted on giving him despite his protestations, and began gathering his stuff. Taking off the small backpack, slung almost forgotten across his shoulder from the B&E earlier that night, Remy proceeded to unpack it and carefully repack the valuable thieving equipment in the appropriate luggage compartments. 

He could feel the figure walking up the stairs and down the hall long before she entered. Her strides were quick and purposeful, with an extra spunk to them... anger? Probably.

The door swung open behind him. "Remy? What are you doing?" Yep, she was angry. But there was also something else... hurt or disappointment in her tone.

"Packin'." The statement came out more clipped than he had intended, but he couldn't help it. Why wouldn't these people just leave him alone and let him leave already?

Storm was quiet for a moment. "Why?" she asked finally.

"'Cause I'm leaving."

"I can see that, but that is not what I meant." He didn't reply, continuing to pack as if she were not even there. She waited for several long hostile moments before prodding further.

"Remy, stop avoiding the question. That does not work with me." She managed to sound gentle and compassionate rather than using the scolding and vindictive tone that would have only served to make him shut her out. Pausing, Remy sighed heavily. He couldn't do this to Ororo, not the only friend who had stuck with him through the good and the bad. She deserved an answer. He turned slowly where he knelt on the floor before his luggage. Red eyes met blue ones and locked.

"We bot' know I don' belong here, Stormy." His voice was quiet, ringing ominously in the scarcely furnished room.

Her gaze turned hard and intense before him, ice blue eyes freezing into a jagged wall of emotion. "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say Remy LeBeau." Pain, frustration, and anger all radiated from the silver-haired woman.

"Is it? Dat why dere's a woman in de medlab who tried to kill me f'r de secrets she saw in m' head, an' half a dozen ot'er X-Men who'd love t' see me dead too?" He stared at her, jaw clenched down against the hurt and frustration the sarcastic words expressed.

She answered him with angry silence, her regal stance strong and defiant, fighting the stinging truth of what he said.

"I jus' not X-Men material an' we bot' know it. Did too many dark an dirty t'ings t' live de life of a hero in Xavier's dream."

Finally Ororo spoke. "Remy, there are many other X-Men who have done bad things in the past. You are not alone in your dark background."

"No, Stormy, but I'm de one dey see an' de one dey blame. I'm de one day condemn."

Silence. He knew he'd hit the nail on the head with that one; the sadness and pain in Storm's eyes proved that without a doubt.

"Given time they'll learn to forgive," she said quietly, pleadingly, after a short pause. But the statement lacked confidence.

"Non, Stormy. I not de good lil' reformed angel day wan' me t' be, and I'm never gon' be. Jus' not who I am." His gaze dropped from hers to graze the floor.

"Surely you are not giving yourself the credit you deserve, Remy." She seemed to think she needed to defend him against himself.

His eyes darted up to recapture hers. "Dis ain't self-pity, Stormy. As a certain femme once tol' me, 'Pity don't suit ya Remy,' an' I inclined t' agree. It jus' a matter of fact. I'm a t'ief, not an X-Man. Time we both accepted dat."

"The world is never so black and white." There were unshed tears in her eyes now, eyes which had glazed over in a pearl white. He noticed the gentle pitter-patter of rain on the roof.

"Non, it ain't, but dat's still de bottom line." Remy stepped forward then, gathering his dear friend into a hug. Her body was warm against his and provided solace despite the tears that now soaked his shirt. He buried his head in her hair to hide the slight glossiness of his own eyes. This might be the last time he ever saw her, ever held her, and they both knew it. Once he left it would be for good and it wasn't likely for a thief to cross paths with an X-Man.

He forced himself to speak, voice muffled by her hair. "Bye, Stormy. It was good while it lasted." She seemed to understand that the 'it' referred to the X-Men.

"Do not call me that," she managed in return, voice slightly unsteady. He couldn't help a small chuckle at the old joke, and he admired the grace she had to uphold it in such a painful moment. Backing away, he turned and zipped up his luggage, shouldering the bag and slipping on his dark Raybans. He turned back to the figure in the doorway.

"Good luck, my friend." Storm said. There was a resignation there. She didn't agree with him, he knew. She though that he should stay here and be a hero. But he also knew that she had no ammunition to back up her arguments. He'd tried to be an X-Men and it hadn't worked... simple as that. Now it was time to move on, to leave all the bitterness and yearning he had behind.

Slowly, deliberately, Remy moved past Storm... and walked out the door.

Behind him she stood, silent tears falling from the heavens to drip into puddles on the moist ground.


	4. Default Chapter Title

****

Part 4

The first rays of morning light streamed through the mansion windows and slanted across the hardwood floors. There was the quiet, refreshing silence of a world waiting to awake. There was also the regret of the last lingering corners of darkness that were unwilling to let go of the past night. But even they were slowly loosing ground, succumbing to the conquering rays of the rising sun.

A young man walked through the large empty room, squinting his red eyes against the painful light. His steps were uncannily quiet and his motions were strangely fluid-like, holding the characteristic smoothness of a dream. Maybe that's all this was, all the X-Men had ever been. A sweet dream that had turned into a nightmare.

Oh well. Time to wake up.

The young man came to the door and stopped, duffel bag bouncing gently against his legs. Reaching out very slowly, he grabbed the cold brass doorknob. He was about to close a chapter in his life, to close a whole book in fact. The X-Men had been something amazing, something in a class all of its own. Something, that he believed, was over.

He began to turn the doorknob, feeling the power, the purpose of the movement electrify him. There was a heavy sadness... and yet a strange joy also, at having finally decided his future.

He heard the click of the lock as it opened and was about to push the door free to greet the blooming day...

When he suddenly stopped. Someone was behind him. On the other side of the room, just at the edge of his kinetic field.

He realized who it was... and felt his heart freeze within the confines of his chest. The hand fell jerkily from the doorknob, forgetting its purpose of opening the door.

The chapter reopened in this book of his life.

Slowly, maybe even regretfully in a sense, Remy turned around to face the one woman who had the power to make his whole world fall to pieces around him. The one woman who had the power to make him stay.

Rogue stood across the large room, staring at him with wide eyes. Her hair hung in limp, tangled clumps about her face, the white stripe offsetting puffy, red eyes. She was wearing his trench coat over the white hospital gown he'd found her in. The stiff fabric of the duster hung unflatteringly over her curvaceous body and slapped gently against her legs as she shivered. One trembling hand covered her mouth in an expression of shock. The other... the other held a worn Queen of Hearts in its flushed fingers, the one he had left in the medlab earlier before leaving.

She was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Remy... You're alive..." she whispered in a barely audible tone, as if saying it too loud would make him disappear. He didn't trust himself to speak so he simply stood there, remaining silent and still. They stared at each other for long time, each trying to figure out if the other was real.

Finally, her hand dropped from her face to fall limply at her side. "How? Ah mean... Ah thought... Ah..." She stopped, unable to force the words through her unsteady lips.

He thought he heard something snap inside of him. "You thought y' killed me?" he supplied icily. "Ya did. But I'm a survivor so I got over it." She winced visibly. __Liar__ he chanted silently to himself. __Liar, liar, liar.__ If he'd gotten over it he wouldn't have needed to deliver such a low blow.

"Ah'm so sorry, Remy," she sputtered helplessly. "Ah didn't mean ta... Ah had no control..." The waves of guilt from her overwhelmed his empathic sense, sickening in their intensity. He tried his best to shut them out.

"What? You jus' __acciden'ly_ _ripped m' still beating heart out of my chest? What happened to all dose promises of unconditional love y' fed me, __chere__?" He was angry beyond words, so much so that the small part of him that yearned to comfort her obvious pain was choked off by the fury that churned in his fire-laden eyes. She had lied to him, left him to die. He didn't take kindly to that. Now that she was standing here before him, he realized how much she'd really hurt him.

Rogue's countenance had darkened suddenly, sparks of anger flashing in her emerald eyes. He'd gotten her mad. "Ah didn't want ta leave ya! If ya really believe that mistah 'let the walls come down on me', then yer stupider than I evah thought ya were. An' those weren't lies! If ya really think I was deceivin' ya when Ah tol' ya ah loved ya—" Her voice broke and she stopped, letting the comment hang in the silence.

"Didn' wanna leave me?" He laughed bitterly, a dark, frightening sound so imposing and sharp it could induce shivers in a person. "Y' sure coulda fooled me, chere." Sarcasm dripped painfully from each syllable.

"Don't ya dare call me 'chere', not now."

"Would y' rather I call y' Judas? You betrayed me, Rogue. Betrayed the love I t'ought we had."

Her feet were off the floor now and her fists were clenched as she hovered threateningly. "An' what did you do again? Oh yeah, you jus' were involved with one o' the worst massacres the X-Men evah experienced and nevah told us. But there couldn't be anything wrong with that, of course not."

His hands slid to the pockets in his pants that held his cards. "You tried to kill me." He said it slowly, quietly, punctuating each word.

"Ah couldn't control it! Aftah that kiss ah had all yer thoughts swimming through mah head! Yer self-hate took over! Do ya know what it's like ta take a back seat in yer own mind and watch yerself sentence the man ya love to death?! The torture of thinkin' ya might have succeeded when yer head finally clears?!" By now she was almost hysterical.

Remy suddenly felt like someone was strangling him with big, heavy hands. His lungs refused to work for several long seconds and his eyes widened with the implications of what she'd just said. She had left him because he had told her to. He had been quite suicidal for a time during the trial... that he could have passed that sentiment on to Rogue when she'd absorbed him during that kiss... the thought had never occurred to him before.

The luggage dropped from his hand and landed loudly on the floor. It sounded like a gunshot in the silence.

"Ya didn't wanna leave me?" he whispered, dumbfounded.

"Of course not, sugah," Rogue said quietly, catching the change in mood. "...Is that what ya thought?"

"I t'ought... I t'ought y' couldn't love me after y' knew what I had done, what I had been."

She had calmed down considerably over the last moments and, though she was still floating in the air, her arms were no longer balled, but wrapped around her protectively. "Ah'm sorry, Remy. And that's not true. Ah still love ya no matter what."

He didn't return the words. There were a million different thoughts and feelings swirling through him, each pulling him in a different direction. In general, he was very confused. He wasn't sure how he felt. And then there were questions... like how much did she really know about his past—about his deal with Sinister?

"Ah nevah wanted ta hurt ya..."

He looked up at her sharply from where he'd been studying the floor in uncertainty. He felt the need to explain, to try to talk out what was going through his mind. "I t'ought you'd left me dere on purpose. Dere were so many feelings rollin' around inside o' me at once... I never considered dat y' might have absorbed m' self-hate." He was staring at her with a tinge of wondrous amazement, eyes wide and childlike with the recent revelation.

"Remy... Ah'm sorry..." she said again.

He found himself closing the distance between them, until they were within arm's reach of each other. But then he stopped, the suave, smooth Remy LeBeau unsure and lost. Did he forgive her? Did he believe what she said? She had left him to die in Antarctica. 

Their eyes seemed to be attached by some invisible string, each person unable to tear their gaze from the other. There was a moment's hesitation and when it was over Rogue had stepped forward into his arms. He held her loosely against him, not in the passionate way of lovers; it was too soon for that, but in the longing way of lost friends.

Inside he felt a tiny burst of relief, of happiness among the other feelings. It was a fledgling and weak hope, a growing belief that maybe things weren't quite so bad. She didn't hate him... She hadn't wanted to leave him. He'd feared that for so long, worried that even she hadn't been able to love him after knowing what he'd done. Remy didn't let many people get close to him, and when Rogue, whose opinion he'd cherished so much, had rejected him, it had hurt so badly. But it wasn't true. None of it was. She was here in his arms now... despite all he'd done.

And then there was the anger. The mistrust. The resentment. Couldn't she have fought his self-hate? Couldn't she have controlled it? And deep in his heart, somewhere safe and secure, he knew he still blamed her. And he knew that she would have to earn his trust, that she would have to prove herself before he ever give her his heart, vulnerable and unguarded, again. But that was deep down inside, buried under layers of walls, leaving the surface for quiet joy.

The hug was a bit awkward. They weren't quite comfortable with each other yet. That would take time. And he was still trying to sort out his emotions and his feelings toward her.

Nobody disturbed them, though they must have woken the whole house with their previous argument. They stood there, enjoying the kind of moment that was so rare for them. And then that moment ended. They both felt it and pulled away slightly. 

There were other, darker things to discuss.

"Rogue, what happened? How'd y' end up at Sinister's place?"

She pulled further away from him to look into his face. Thin rivulets of water stained her cheeks and he yearned to wipe them away, but he wore no gloves and to touch her would mean her absorbing his powers, his memories, and his personality. He watched as her gaze turned hard and distant, like she was suddenly somewhere else, reliving a painful memory.

"Aftah Ah realized what Ah'd done ta ya.... well, Ah was upset, blamed mahself an' mah powers. There was this doctor who said he could get rid of them... but Ah changed mah mind at the last minute." Her faraway eyes focussed on him, her gaze sharp with the earnestness of her next words. "Mah powers are a part of me, Remy. They've defined who Ah am for so long. Ah can't just give 'em up like that, and Ah ain't gonna just erase them like Ah never had 'em. That would be lyin' to mahself and rejectin' who Ah am. It took me a while to realize that... but it feels right." She seemed to be waiting for a reaction from him, so he nodded. 

Satisfied, she continued. "Anyway, the doctor turned out ta be Sinister in disguise, and when Ah refused ta do anymore tests... He took me hostage, suppressed mah powers temporarily—I have them back now—and did them anyway..." Her gaze was distant again, and she shuddered at some unseen memory playing before her mind. But despite the horror of her body, her eyes were like hard crystal, refusing to be defeated, determined to endure. It was one of the qualities that had first drawn him to her.

She seemed to come back to the present, seeing him again and abandoning her disturbing visions. "Ah just can't believe yer here, sugah," she said with a smile.

Remy flashed her his most charming grin. "Never could resist de company of a beautiful woman."

She blushed, turning away. "Ya know, boy, yer just like the energizer bunny. All that charm jus' keeps goin' and goin'. Ya nevah stop do ya?"

"Nope."

"Doncha _evah_ take a break from all the flirtin'? Even for a moment?"

He gave her a startled look. "Now, where de fun in dat?"

She sighed dramatically in return. "Remy LeBeau, what am Ah gonna do with you?"

"Y' wan' de full list or de shortened condensed one?" He flashed his eyes at her and grinned devilishly.

Rogue only shook her head and rolled her eyes, falling against him to rest her head on his chest as she laughed.

§ ¨ © ª

Remy bent over, hands pressed to the grass, pushing and holding the stretch. The sun beat on his back and he couldn't help but notice the unusual heat of the autumn day. Straightening, he looked around. His eyes and kinesthetic sense grazed the expansive lawn of the Xavier Institute. Deserted. Good. He wouldn't have to worry about Marrow jumping out of the shadows while he was trying to have a nice peaceful jog. All of the X-Men should be in the war room—or what was left of the war room after OZT—listening to Rogue's story of how she'd gotten caught up with Sinister, leaving him, thankfully, alone. Of course Storm had invited him to attend the meeting, but judging from the way things had gone last time Remy and the X-Men were all in the same room, Remy didn't think that was such a good idea. He could find out what he'd missed later from Storm... or maybe even Rogue herself.

Remy began jogging at a nice, easy pace. He hadn't completely recovered from his pneumonia yet and his breath came accompanied by a gentle rattle in his lungs. Remy ignored it and picked up the pace slightly, aiming for the trails in the woods. He focused on the rhythm of his breathing, fighting back the urge to cough that came with exerting himself. It was so strange; this morning he'd been ready to leave the X-Men forever, and now here he was, doing something as ordinary as taking a jog at their headquarters. All because of Rogue. He really didn't plan on staying permanently, just long enough to see how things turned out between him and the woman he loved.

The trees began to surround him, closing in like protective barriers from the outside world. His lungs tried to rebel against their increased use in their weakened state. Again, Remy ignored it, moving now at a fast jog. His eyes grazed the dirt trail ahead of him and he had to blink back tears brought on by the irritation in his lung. Brow furrowing in concentration he forced his body to work, compelling the air to circulate and his head to stay clear despite the dizziness that threatened. 

Briefly an image of a children's story he'd been bored enough to watch on PBS once flashed through his head: 'The Little Engine that Could.' A wry smile managed to touch his lips as he remembered it. __I t'ink I can... I t'ink I can... I t'ink I can...__ But in the end he couldn't. An unfortunate stumble on a rock and he lost his tenuous grasp on his stability.

Coughing overtook him as he regained his balance. Air... he needed air. The dizziness and tears came unrestrained now and he sunk to his knees hacking uncontrollably. The world blurred and he clawed desperately for air. Dimly, he felt someone running towards him, then hands on his shoulders and a voice telling to breathe. __What y' t'ink I tryin' t' do?_ _he thought in frustration. Working to calm himself, he fought to steady his breaths, slowing down the desperate gasping for air. Finally the coughing began to subside and he didn't feel so much like he was about to pass out.

"That's it, slow, deep breaths." He looked up to see Cecilia kneeling before him, watching him carefully. He nodded and waved his hand to indicate that he was okay, still fighting an occasional sporadic cough. She didn't move except to drop her hands from his shoulders to rest them on the ground, steadying herself. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Terrible." He coughed a few times as if for emphasis.

"You look terrible."

"T'anks"

"Don't mention it. Now, you want to tell me what happened?"

"Jus' had a coughin' fit, dat's all."

"That was no ordinary coughing fit," she eyed him suspiciously, waiting for him to reply but he remained silent. "If you won't explain why you nearly suffocated just now I guess we'll just have to bring you back to the mansion and run some test to find out."

"No tests." He stared at her coldly.

"Yes tests. Unless you can explain to me what just happened." She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to give in.

"Probl'y had somethin' t' do wit' dat pneumonia I jus' got over." He kept his tone even and casual.

"Pneumonia!?"

He shrugged slightly. "Yep."

"Are you crazy? You could have killed your self!"

"But I didn'." He gazed at her steadily, watching her reaction. 

Cecilia rolled her eyes and shook her head. "That's only because not only are you stupid, but you're lucky too."

"T'anks again."

She ignored the comment. "You should be in bed resting with your lungs still weakened like that!"

"I be fine." He stood up and brushed the dirt off his knees.

"Oh, sure. Sure you be fine," Her words were incredibly sarcastic. "What kind of accent is __that__ supposed to be."

"It's not __supposed__ to be anyt'ing, chere. But it __is__ Cajun." He earned a skeptical look for that as she brought herself up to a standing position. "Shouldn't y' be at de briefing de X-Men are havin'?" he added.

"Shouldn't you be there too?"

"I'm not a X-Mean."

"Neither am I."

He tilted his head slightly. "Then pardon me chere, but what are ya doin' here?"

She looked at him, annoyed. "What are __you__ doing here?"

"Good point."

"I stay just until I can get my life back together. Then I'm gone."

He nodded understandingly, but not warmly. "Same here."

She seemed to be looking past him for a moment, thinking about something. A second later she came back to reality. "Come on. As your doctor I order you back to the mansion and in bed."

"But you're not my doctor."

"I am now." She turned and began walking away, expecting that he would follow. He didn't exactly want to have to deal with another near death experience so he willingly obeyed. At least the girl had spunk, even if she had woken up waaaaaay over on the wrong side of the bed.

They emerged from the wooded trails side by side to cross the grassy field that separated them from the sprawling mansion beyond. Allowing a brief cough to escape earned Remy an urgent and sharp glance form Cecilia. He just couldn't resist the opportunity. Charmingly, "Don' worry, petite. I'm okay now, non?" The voice was smooth like honey and the smile confident, though slightly amused.

"Oh, I'm so relieved," she replied sarcastically. "I was just sprouting white hairs over you 'petite.'"

"Well, 's okay now. Wouldn' do to mar dat pretty head wit' premature agin'. Like he was going to let her have the last word. He cheered triumphantly at the angry look she gave him. __He shoots, he scores!__

"I'm sorry Mister LeBeau, but I think you have me confused with one of your bimbos that do nothing but swoon all over you."

"Moi?" he raised his eyebrows, giving her a shocked look. "I assure you Dr. Reyes, an image of you swooning had not entered even de farthest reaches of m' humble mind."

Her answer was simply a frustrated noise and an increased speed in her walk. Remy kept up with her, matching the brisk pace.

"You know if you are even half this annoying to everyone else, then I understand why the bone girl has such a problem with you."

He almost stopped dead in his tracks. Almost. But by some miracle he managed to keep himself moving without missing a step. "You don' know anyt'ing 'bout day," he said quietly after a moment.

"You're right, I don't. And I don't care." She continued to stare straight ahead, sparing him from having to meet her gaze.

"Good. 'Cause carin' ain't done not'in' t' nobody but bring dem pain." His mood had shifted drastically and she favored him with a curious glance that was slightly less hard-edged than her looks had been before.

"Wow, so there is more to you than ego. There's also self-loathing and angst."

"Ha, ha." he replied sarcastically, a certain darkness surrounding his countenance. After a slight pause, "I got a question for ya doc. Why are y' so opposed t' joinin' de X-Men?"

Cecilia took a moment to think before answering. "I don't exactly consider running around the world, risking my life chasing evil villains while wearing spandex an ideal career." She paused and he chuckled softly at he last part. "But then again, you don't seem to have a problem with risking your life, do you?" That was an obvious referral to his little jogging expedition. 

But it was also a heavy prod for additional information. Information that he was unwilling to give to someone with whom his relationship was so distant. But if he were willing to give it, what would it sound like? 

He would talk about how the X-Men were the New Orleans Thieves Guild all over again. Both had banished him for crimes he'd never meant to commit. The X-Men were willing to accept him back—or at least the leader of the team was—but things could never be the same. Remy considered the X-Men family and he would not be able to take the cold shoulders that he knew these closely treasured people would give. 

He would talk of the bitterness he felt and the pain, of the resentment towards the self-righteous people that found it so hard to accept him after what they knew of his past. 

And most of all, he would talk about the way he could never fit in. Being a hero just wasn't in his blood. Almost from the moment he was born in the back allies of New Orleans he'd known only one thing: Survival. And that deeply rooted doctrine went against the basic fundamentals of the X-Men, the belief in sacrifice for the good of the dream.

But Remy told Cecilia none of this and she seemed content to let the subject drop. Besides, they had reached the mansion door. He allowed her to enter first after an extravagant bow and a flourish of his hand, earning him yet another ire look. For a moment, the sheer emptiness of the room struck him and Remy had to remind himself that the old mansion he was used to was gone, stolen away by Bastion and his men. 

Cecilia stood, one hand on her hip, a few steps in front of him. "Bed. Now." she ordered, pointing toward the stairs. A smirk quirked the edges of his lips at the hard command and he hung his head like a reprimanded little boy.

"Yes, mommy," he muttered pitifully. And then he obeyed her order, admitting to himself that he was, indeed, quite tired.

§ ¨ © ª

Remy woke with a chill, like he usually did, despite the warm blankets that covered him. He rolled over, letting whatever dream that had plagued him fall away. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings, remembering that he was in the X-Men's mansion. 

Moaning quietly, he ventured to crack one eyelid open. Light flooded into it and he promptly shut it again, cursing softly at the spots dancing before his closed eye. Sure, extra sensitive eyes were great for night vision, but they were terrible in the angry brightness of the daytime sun. He'd nearly blinded himself once when he was a pup. He'd been dared by a fellow street rat to look straight at the sun with his devil eyes. Course he could never pass up a challenge and was stupid enough to try. Next thing he knew he was on the ground holding his eyes and screaming in pain as they bled. Needless to say, Remy had never purposefully tried that again.

The spots began to fade and Remy rolled over again, making sure his back was to the window. Gradually, he began to slide into sleep once more. He hung, suspended, weightless in the black oblivion that lay somewhere between dreams and consciousness. He shivered in the emptiness and a delusional net of images and thoughts jumbled together about him, holding him, encasing him. Memories merged in uncanny, foreign ways: white hair, long and silky, on a head that bore piercing green eyes; Jean Luc holding the Ace of Spades; Belladonna standing among the dead in some dark, solemn, tunnel. 

And then there was a tiny, metal cylinder whose contents were deathly precious, held by a man whose pale white skin contrasted sharply with his sinister red eyes and a blood colored diamond engraved in his forehead. The man looked down at the cylinder and smiled cruelly, a maniacal glint flashing across his terrifying eyes. Then he threw the precious object. It seemed to drift through time and space, tumbling end over end to crash against the obsidian black floor. The red liquid that filled it spilled out of the cracked metal exterior, splattering across the ground until it formed a big, blood-red 'X' enclosed in a circle...

And suddenly, he was falling, heart leaping into throat, stomach twisting, until he landed with a jolt... into awareness. Remy clutched the blankets and inhaled sharply. His eyes snapped open and then squinted a bit in the sudden light. It took him a moment before he gathered his surroundings and relaxed into the pillow, concentrating on keeping his breathing slow and steady. He was covered in a thin film of sweat and suddenly sleep didn't hold the appeal it had before.

Pushing himself up, he ran one hand through his shaggy hair. Then he stood and crossed the room to his suitcase, gathering some clothes and putting on shorts and, after a moment's hesitation, slipping on a T-shirt also. Remy had never been modest in any sense of the word, but he didn't want someone like Storm seeing him without a shirt and getting all worried and motherly on him just because a few ribs were protruding too much under his skin.

He walked out the door and wandered down the hall to the bathroom, which was, thankfully, empty. He avoided looking in the mirror as he entered, suddenly afraid of what he'd see. It was so strange. The X-Men finally knew one of his deepest, darkest secrets—of course they didn't know the whole story, but they knew the worst of it. Anyway, the constant pressure of hiding something so terrible and horrific as his involvement in the Morlock Massacre, the persistent, wasting shame of keeping it away from those he thought of as family, was gone. Storm had accepted him despite it and he'd reached some kind of truce or reconciliation with Rogue. And on top of that all, he'd finally stopped pretending to be something he wasn't, had admitted that he was, and always would be a thief—a very good thief of course, but still just a thief.

But none of that helped him to face the demon eyes in the mirror. In fact, he found it harder to do so now than it had been a few days ago. And he couldn't shake the dirty feeling that he was lying to himself, being dishonest to the deepest annals of his being.

And scrub as he might, that dirt just wouldn't wash away. 


	5. Default Chapter Title

****

Part 5

Remy ran a hand through his damp hair as he walked down the stairs, intent on reaching the kitchen and getting a late lunch. He really didn't care who he saw; he was hungry and he was gonna get some food no matter what. He hopped down the last step and wandered soundlessly across the empty room at its foot, eventually finding himself at his destination, which was, to his immense gratitude, unoccupied. He smiled at the white refrigerator in the corner. At least the X-Men had had enough sense to refurbish the kitchen after Bastion cleaned out the mansion. They'd even gotten a chance to add some beds and the barest of furniture to the bedrooms. He frowned. There was still no TV though, probably Stormy's doing. She'd never been too fond of the rewarding activity of wasting one's mind away as they stared at senseless, colorful pictures on the tube. Too bad. She had no idea what she was missing.

There was the sound of the suction of the frig door releasing its hold on the main unit, and then the refrigerator was open. A slow smile spread over Remy's lips. Fully stocked. He held the door open with his leg while he filled both arms with the makings of a sandwich. The last time he'd eaten had been an early dinner yesterday. He'd skipped breakfast to sleep late and it was almost 2:00PM now. The pile of objects in his arms was just reaching its completion when he felt Wolverine enter the room behind him.

"Sneakin' out fer a mid-afternoon snack Cajun?"

Remy turned and grinned at him, letting the refrigerator door close as he walked over to the table and dropped his items on it. Logan watched with an expression of bemusement as the food spilled across the polished wood surface.

"Or maybe more like a mid-afternoon feast?" He raised an eyebrow at the taller man before him.

"Oh, give me a break Logan. Been a long time since I had someone ta lynch food off of, no?"

"Jus' make sure ya don't leave a mess Gumbo. 'Ro'll hang ya if she's left ta clean up."

Remy chuckled and smiled devilishly. "Sure Logan, no problem." The other man just shook his head.

"Heard 'bout yer little incident this morning."

Remy scowled at the counter where he was busy gathering utensils and a plate. "Dat de newest Mansion gossip?"

"Yep. You been occupying conversations a lot recently."

"Oh, I'm honored," Remy replied sarcastically. He began chopping onions and peppers with ferocious efficiency. Wolverine stood silently before him for a moment, watching.

Finally he spoke. "Seriously Gumbo. Cecilia tol' me that ya had pneumonia recently. You sure yer okay Cajun?"

"Oh yeah Logan, I jus' fine an' dandy."

Wolverine's expression darkened. "Don't ya try that defensive junk with me Cajun."

"What do y' wan' me ta do? Be all happy an' preten' notin' happened?"

The two were staring at each other now, Remy's half-made sandwich momentarily forgotten. "Look Cajun. The Morlock Massacre was one o' the worse things I've had to deal with as an X-Man. I swore to make all those responsible pay. But you ain't the man that was responsible. Best as I can tell he ain't been 'round since ya joined up with the X-Men. And I believe ya when you say ya didn't know what you were getting yerself into when ya led the Marauders. You made a stupid mistake that cost lots of lives. Jus' don't make it again. 

"But the X-Men made a mistake too. Should've never left one of our own ta die like that. I just hope the members of this team aren't stupid enough to let that happen again. It's good yer back Cajun, cause there're a lot of things that need ta be resolved. But don't ya go messin' stuff up with yer attitude when someone's tryin' ta make things better. I had nothin' ta do with leavin' ya in Antarctica."

"T'anks for de advise mon ami. I be sure ta keep it in mind next time Drake's tryin' ta freeze me to death." Remy returned to his sandwich ignoring the low growl emanating from the Canadian's throat.

"Ya really know how ta push people's buttons, don't ya Cajun."

"Jus' part o' de charm."

"An' women really go fer that?"

"All the time, cherie."

"Yer gonna get it for that Gumbo. Jus' you wait 'till the next time we play basketball..."

"Dat a challenge?"

"Maybe." Logan shrugged and turned, walking out of the room, "When yer well enough to play a game without coughing yerself to death." Remy smiled at Logan's back. He would have added something, just to get the last word, but the Cannuck was already gone. He shook his head and returned his attention to his sandwich, nostalgia bringing him back to the last time they had played basketball, and his smile widened at the memories.

§ ¨ © ª

Remy let out a slow, steady breath of air, concentrating on controlling his breathing as he went through the exercise. Cold, clammy sweat clung to him and the staff he held was a comforting, familiar, weight in his hands. He turned it, jabbing downwards, moving steadily and slowly through the sequence. It was a routine imbedded in his mind from when he was a pup just learning the art of fighting. It was carefully controlled and designed to increase in difficulty as it progressed. The moves would get faster and faster and eventually flips and summersaults would be added. 

But right now Remy was taking it slow, working himself gradually into the routine. It felt strange having to put so much effort into completing the early, easy stages of it. It felt uncannily like he was just a kid again, trying desperately to increase his stamina and endurance to please the man he had come to know as father. But now his father was not here, just him. And he was pushing himself harder than ever to come back from his recent ordeals for no reason other than to satisfy himself.

The air felt cold and irritating to his lungs, the temperature having dropped off quite a bit from earlier in the day. Tiny ripples in the lake he stood next to indicated a slight breeze. He couldn't feel the wind though. The boathouse that towered beside him blocked it rather efficiently. He forced himself to focus, pushing out all the irrelevant details of his surroundings. The water ceased to exist; the cabin no longer stood; the cold no longer sent shivers across his skin. 

There was only Remy and the staff. He swung it around, flowing into the next, faster, section of the sequence. Breathing was starting to get difficult but he forced his lungs not to spasm, sweat breaking out on his forehead with the effort. Time slipped from his fingers and vanished into the oblivion of unnoticed circumstances that surrounded him. 

Faster. He turned and jabbed, the beat of his heart and the rasp of his breathing echoing through his head, perfectly in tune. More speed. He whirled around, stepping forward as he placed a high kick at an invisible enemy. The staff was no longer his main weapon, all parts of his body became involved, working together in a strange, graceful, deadly dance. 

Now the next level. He somersaulted through the air, flinging out a roundhouse before he back flipped to his original position. Everything worked together perfectly, every move executed with a practiced precision. But the concentration he had to exert for what should have been such a simple exercise was immense. And he wasn't even up to the most difficult part. His teeth ground together with the effort of keeping his body under control when every cell of his being protested that it was unable to do what he demanded of it so soon.

It was too late when he noticed the person approaching with his spatial sense. The mark was already threateningly close and he had no time to determine its identity. Acting on instinct, he deviated from the normal routine and somersaulted over the head of the person, swiping out his leg as he landed to make contact with the joint behind the knees. The assailant went down quickly and before it could get its bearings and regroup, Remy was on top it, one knee pressed to the chest while the staff rested heavily on the throat. It took a moment for Remy's vision to clear enough for him to see the person he was pinning. But as he realized who the woman was, his eyes widened and he promptly rolled off of her, dropping the staff to the ground.

"'M sorry chere. Didn' know it was you," he quickly explained, between gasps for air. Rogue sat up slowly, brushing dirt off her uniform. For a moment she looked angry but then she sighed and seemed to let it go.

"Guess Ah had it comin' fah sneakin' up on ya sugah."

He didn't answer, breathing was too hard now that his concentration was broken, but he stood and offered her a hand. "Y' okay?" he finally managed.

"Sure, Ah'm invulnerable aren't ah?" She rose, accepting the proffered hand, and stared at him for a moment, eyes travelling over his body. "How 'bout you Remy? You're not lookin' yer best ya know. Yah shouldn't be working yourself so hard. I heard 'bout what happened when ya went jogging."

"I'm fine!" He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I can take care of m'self. Remy's a big boy now, no?" All this concern the X-Men suddenly had was getting pretty annoying.

"Well Ah'm sorry fah carin'!" He saw the flare in her eyes and knew a fight was coming, one which he was in no mood to have right now. Especially after all that had happened, all the hope he'd found that they might actually be able to make their relationship work. If she could forgive him for what she knew of his past and if he could just find a way to forgive her for leaving him in Antarctica, something that wasn't even her fault, then maybe things could actually work out between them.

Suddenly Remy was wracked with a brief but violent bout of coughing. Rogue stepped toward him in alarm. "Remy?" she asked concerned.

"Jus'...give...me...a...sec..." he managed between coughs. It subsided after a moment but the damage was already done. When he looked up Rogue was glassy-eyed, desperately fighting back tears.

"Ah'm so sorry Remy. If Ah jus' could've been stronger after that kiss, maybe ah wouldn't have left ya. And ya wouldn't be so..."

"Utterly pathetic?" he supplied icily. Then he winced at his own words. This was so frustrating to him, feeling so weak, especially in front of someone whose opinion he cherished so much. And he couldn't deny that he was still a little angry at her. Logically, he knew that Antarctica wasn't her fault, but it hurt to know that his self-hatred had been stronger than her love, and with that pain came doubt and mistrust. 

"Look, chere," he said after a moment, before Rogue could interject defensively. "It happened an' we can' change it. Maybe it be better if we jus' stop lookin' back an' start moving forward."

She gazed at him a moment, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and then nodded. "Ah think that's a good idea, sugah." She paused for a moment hesitantly. "But first ah jus' have one teensy-weensy little question that's been eatin' away at me... how exactly did ya get back from Antartica?"

He held his gaze on her while he contemplated his answer. How could he tell her about New Son? 'Hey Rogue, I'm back ta steelin' an' doin' bad t'ings 'cause I owe it to a guy I never even met for savin' m' life. Hope y' don' disapprove.' Yeah, right. Either she would feel incredibly guilty for playing a part in getting him stuck in such a situation, or she would take matters into her own hands and try to get him out of it. Both of which would cause more harm than good. He didn't want to lie to her though, to start the cycle of deception and secrets all over again. But until he knew more about New Son he couldn't risk getting her involved.

"An Inuit man happened t' find me jus' in time." It wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't the whole truth. It would just have to do for now.

"Oh," she said seeming to accept this. "So... what happens now?"

He let his eyes glow slightly as he stared at her. "I dunno chere. But I'm willin' to wait and see." He took a step closer and quirked a corner of his lips up slightly. "If you are." She didn't back away but smiled flirtatiously at him.

"You ain't so tough Cajun. Ah can last as long as you can an' more."

"Y' sure?" He asked, now only inches away from her. Their hands intertwined between them. Her grip was hard, desperate. She was scared, terrified of being this close to someone, but she was fighting that fear.

"Positive." There lips barely brushed each other and he could feel the slight tingle of Rogue's power activated by their touch. But it was weak and would remain insignificant as long as they didn't try to touch anymore.

"Remy?" she whispered, slightly alarmed.

"'S okay, Rogue."

He pulled back slightly to give her room to relax, but remained close. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a white bolt of lightning strike the clear, dusk sky. The world momentarily lit around them in stark, white, blazing glory, and then dimmed again. Remy turned his head to look in the direction of the strange phenomenon and Rogue did the same. "What do ya think that was all 'bout, sugah?" Rogue inquired curiously.

"Probl'y Stormy's way o' tellin' us to get out butts back to de mansion now or she'll bring dem back dere for us."

"In that case we bettah get goin'." She turned to begin walking but waited while he bent to retrieve a water bottle he'd brought and his forgotten staff. Then, together, they walked toward the sprawling mansion beyond the trees.

§ ¨ © ª

Gambit stood on the roof, enjoying the great view of the sunset beyond the treetops. He had not come up here to angst... just to enjoy the view. Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he'd come up here to angst. He always came up here to angst. 

Remy glanced down at the roof beneath his feet as his thoughts turned to the people inside the mansion. He'd skipped dinner with the X-Men, but not simply because he was avoiding most of them. In fact, he might have gone just to annoy a few of the members of whom he'd never been too fond anyway. But Remy hadn't joined the once merry mutants for dinner because right now he couldn't even think of food, let alone see it, without feeling queasy. 

Something was definitely not right. A stabbing headache throbbed behind his eyes, a nauseating feeling twisted his stomach, and all over his body he felt tingling. It was a strange pins-and-needles like sensation that he had never remembered experiencing the exact likeness of before. Remy would have liked nothing more than to sleep, to lose the pain in the obliviousness of unconsciousness. Unfortunately he felt too sick even to do that. 

The wind picked up a bit and Remy pulled his long duster closer around his lithe body. The frustration welled up like a big angry ball in his chest. There was only one ready reason he could find for his sickness, and that was that he had overworked himself exercising. How long would it take for him to recover? 

Remy had never been an overwhelmingly patient person by nature. His mutant powers played a large part in that. Like most energy-welders, he had an extremely high metabolism. It made him constantly anxious, feeling the need to be doing things and keeping busy every waking moment. Boredom was very, very easy to come by with Remy LeBeau. 

But he was a master thief, trained by the New Orleans Thieves Guild to be careful and willing to wait. And even before that it had been a skill he'd needed simply to survive on the streets homeless, abandoned and alone, picking pockets and such just to feed himself. Patience was something he had needed to learn early to survive. But despite his ability to fight down the restlessness inside him when necessary, it had never come easily, and sometimes not at all. There had been more than one occasion when Remy had acted rashly, without thinking simply because he needed to do _something, anything_. And now the constraints placed by his weakened body made that feeling all the more prominent. He was a man who depended on his abilities, using every resource in his reach, and backing up superior skills with a cocky attitude to match. 

But now Remy wasn't quite as sure of himself as he had once been. His body felt almost like it wasn't his anymore, incapable of the things it once found so easy. Usually Remy optimistically told himself that he would be back in top form in no time, that all it would take is some work. But now, with the queasiness sending him to wrap trembling hands around his stomach, he wasn't so certain. Sure he might be physically healed in a month or so, but did he really have that long? Being with the X-Men reminded him of how many enemies he'd made. If one of them chose now to enact their revenge... he wasn't sure he could take them, wasn't sure he could win, wasn't sure he could survive. 

Eyelids closed over glowing crimson and he took a deep settling breath. He hated to admit it, but he was scared, real scared. He stood here, alive, on the rooftop of those he had believed sent him to die... when really he should be lying face down and frozen in some pile of snow at the bottom of the globe. He still didn't understand how he'd survived as long as he did before New Son found him. The memories were somewhat dim... he'd been so weak. There was a point where he could barely walk in his starvation. Then there had been a swirl of green surrounding him, seeping into his pores, invading his body and mind, before it was gone and he was left crouched on the ground in shock. He still didn't know if it had been a hallucination or not. But if it had been, how had he suddenly found enough strength to wander out into the snow and search in desperation for a way home? And why had he seen the same aberration surround him later in the Savage Land? Remy hadn't a clue and that simple fact was eating away at him, because somewhere deep inside he knew, that if he found out the answer to his questions he wouldn't much like them. 

Even Remy's own mutant powers seemed to be foreign and strange to him. His ability to charge objects with kinetic energy had been evolving slowly, growing more powerful... and Remy worried that the flood gates he had risked everything to build in his mind... might be crumbling. He'd given so much to hide away that dangerous part of himself, the part he couldn't control... And so many lives had been lost for that...

Remy fell to his knees with a groan, his stomach feeling as if it had just flipped within him. Sweat poured off his brow and he grimaced with the pain. "Get...'hold o' y'self Remy..." he whispered as he trembled. What was happening to him? Remy bent to let his head rest on the shingles of the roof, breathing deeply to ward off the nausea. The slant of the roof came up to meet his forehead and he found the position oddly comfortable. 

So he stayed that way... for a long time. He might have gone down to his room in hopes that he would manage to fall asleep in the luxury of a bed... but he wasn't sure he'd make it. And he didn't want an X-Man to find him collapsed on the floor halfway down the hall to the Men's Wing. He couldn't let them see his weakness like that; the disastrous jog that morning had been bad enough. So Remy stayed there, not quite sleeping, but managing to relax somewhat despite the pain.

His head was still down and his eyes closed when he sensed the projectile moving toward him with his kinesthetic sense. A moment later he heard the noise of it shrieking through the air, and then he was rolling out of the way and onto his feet, acting purely on reflex. He came up holding some cards his hand had found in his coat pocket, stomach lurching terribly. Remy did his best to ignore it and let his eyes search the rooftop.

About 10 meters away he found Sara, an angry scowl covering her face. The bones stuck out of her body at odd, disjointed angles, not even sparing her face from having to bear their painful mark. Striking pink hair spiked up from around a few stubs of bone that poked out on her forehead. She was reaching for another dagger and preparing to throw it, her eyes red and irritated... with pain? With tears? He noticed in his quick stock of his attacker, the pale, unnatural color of her skin and he wondered if that was a side affect of her powers... or maybe from living underground in the tunnels so long? But somehow he didn't remember her color being quite so deathly the last time he'd seen her. 

She threw the bone spike she was holding and he dodged out of the way, letting the weapon fly by his left ear. "Now yer gonna pay fer all the death ya caused Gene Traitor. Now the Morlocks get their revenge." The scratchy voice grated in his ears. But there was more to the huskiness than emotion... she sounded... sick.

Remy held three glowing cards in his right hand, but refused to throw them. He couldn't hurt this girl, not after all she'd been through on account of him already. "Petite... Sara... I sorry girl. I didn' know Sinister meant t' kill de Morlocks... I would've never helped him if I did... Maybe dat ain't no excuse... but I really am sorry. I don' wanna fight y' Sara. I can' bring dem back... an' killin' me won' make what happened go 'way." He managed to keep his voice even and his face a carefully controlled mask of sincerity. Wouldn't do to have her know his head was pounding so hard that he thought it was going to burst, now would it? She'd picked the worst possible time to do this... but then, she'd planned it that way, hadn't she?

"A little late for 'sorry' ain't it?" She mocked. Then her body dove through the air with a speed he hadn't expected. He narrowly avoided being pulled to the ground by her. But that didn't save him from the dagger she stabbed into the back of his thigh as she rolled to her feet besides him. Barely allowing a groan to escape his lips, Remy flipped backward, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg as best he could. By some miracle he managed to land neatly, with some added space between him and Sara. She was smiling broadly as she reached for another bone. "Ya scared yet murderer? Well you will be. I'll have ya peein' in yer pants and screaming for yer mommy before I'm done. And then I'll rip yer heart out... that is if ya have one." 

He ignored the threats and reached behind him for the dagger planted firmly in the back of his leg. This was gonna hurt. He braced himself and ripped it out, swinging it around to hold in front of him. Now he had a weapon other than his cards. Whipping his arm out, he threw the cards in his right hand with practiced precision at the roof just beneath Marrow's feet. It was a low level charge, but just enough to sent her stumbling backward onto the floor. He was above her before she could regain her stance, straddled over her and pinning each of her wrists with the toes of a boot, pushing down with just enough pressure to keep her there, but not enough to hurt her. The point of the bone dagger he'd pulled from his leg was aimed threateningly at her neck, and he could feel the warm blood seeping over the back of his left thigh, soaking his jeans in warm, wet, liquid. 

She stared up at him with hatred in her eyes, refusing to look scared or defeated despite the weapon aimed at her throat. And rightly so...her legs were still free, and eventually she would decide to ignore the pointed dagger as a bluff and use them. He needed to talk quickly. Fighting down the strengthening nausea, he kept his voice low, and somewhat calm despite the emotions whirling inside of him. "Sara...do y' 'member me?"

"I'll never ferget what ya did, Gene Traitor," she spat viciously.

"Dat's not what I asked. Do y' 'member _me_. Can' y' actually see me in y' memories."

She was silent. Brooding.

"Well I 'member y'," he said quietly. "Y' were only a pup... but I'll never forget carryin' y' outta dose tunnels."

She stared at him blankly for a second, her eyes narrowing as she thought. He watched her, seeing her face easily through the darkness, as realization blossomed there. Her features contorted in wide-eyed shock, briefly flickering to fear, before settling on horror. "It was you..." Her voice was whispery and weak. Once again he was struck by the sense that something was physically wrong with her. But maybe the queasiness he saw there was just the result of what she was remembering. 

"You were the one who... who... took me out of the tunnels... I remember. You were hurt... stumbling... and I was scared because of the way your eyes glowed... the exact color of the blood all around me." His heart ached with her words... she sounded so much like the lost, innocent little girl he'd met so long ago. "You... you... were almost killed by the others...when...you tried to...stop them. But... but... you saved my life... How...?" 

He refused to finish the question for her, even in his mind, despite the way she let it hang, tormenting him in the air. Tears began to well up in her eyes and she blinked them away, seeming to come back from the distant state she'd just been in. "How can ya be both the Gene Traitor... and my... savior?" The question was accusing, distrusting. She didn't want to believe him.

"I... made a mistake, petite. I didn' mean for no one t' die. An' when it happened..." he paused taking a deep breath to collect himself against the painful memories. "It was too late when I tried to stop dem. All I could do... was grab dis one little girl I saw crying in de shadows... an try to at least save her."

Sara was silent, staring, and he watched her, his heart hanging on what her next actions would be. Would she forgive him? Or would she try to kill him nonetheless?

Remy never had the chance to find out. 

Suddenly his stomach lurched and the world began spinning violently. Stumbling backwards and releasing his hold on Sara, he tried to remain standing despite the dizziness. He frantically fought to maintain control of himself. Had he lost more blood from Sara's wound than he'd thought? 

Remy fell to his knees, unable to maintain balance with his swimming head. Dimly he heard a scream, far away in the distance, one that sounded so familiar. He associated images of lightning and thunder with it but he couldn't find a name for the owner. He just felt so sick. Closer, another shriek broke through the crisp night air, and he barely kept his eyes open long enough to see Sara spasm, her back arching up off the ground and her hands clawing at the air. 

Then darkness slowly enclosed him, finally granting him relief from the pain. He welcomed it without complaint.

§ ¨ © ª

Remy opened his eyes slowly to the dark, clear night. A million tiny specks of light sparkled down on his trembling body and his eyes saw them perfectly, but despite this he felt completely blind. It took his groggy mind a moment to realize why. And then he understood. His spatial sense was gone. Suddenly alert, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, pulling out a card as he did so. 

He couldn't charge it with kinetic energy. 

A tiny panicky voice began screaming in his head and he forced it down. As calmly as he could, he observed his surroundings. He was on the roof, it was night... and a few feet away Marrow lay motionless. Remy quickly pushed himself to his feet, gasping at the sharp pain in the back of his thigh were Sara had stabbed him earlier, and ran the few steps to her.

An exclamation of horror escaped his lips. 

Sara lay on her back, all four limbs sprawled out. Crimson laced her body in thin rivers, intensifying where the bones pierced her skin. Where before the punctures had been clean, skin growing right up to protruding bones, now they looked ripped and torn, bleeding heavily. Dark, purple bruises covered her in large blotches, and her complexion was unnaturally pale. 

Kneeling quickly, Remy checked her breathing and pulse. Both were present and steady. She was still alive. He released a breath of air that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and lifted Marrow gingerly in his arms. Although he felt strangely weak, he managed to cradle her gently and walk to the edge of the roof. He jumped off and landed heavily, not quite as gracefully as usual. 

Dizziness plagued him, his body trying to adjust to not having his spatial sense available, but he ignored it as best he could and ran to the mansion door. He kicked it. Hard. Cursing each second that passed, finally he heard steps approach the door. The heavy wood pulled back to reveal the haggard, worried face of Bobby. The young man had the grace to ignore his hatred of Remy and turn his attention to the limp girl in his arms. 

Moving aside, Drake gestured for Remy to pass. He did so, and stepped into the middle of a deserted room. "Everybody's in the medlab with the other wounded. Come on." Other wounded? Remy decided he would find out soon enough and followed Drake as he ran to the lift. They rode down in silence, except for the few words of shock Iceman muttered upon examining Sara's injuries more closely. 

The trip was short but Remy still had to fight frayed nerves and impatience. He would not let this girl die. She'd suffered enough already. With a soft swish of air the lift doors opened and Remy emerged... into pure chaos.

Outside the door to the medlab a hand full of X-Men paced and waited, all wearing worried looks. From inside the lab a melting pot of noises emerged. Yells, shouts, screams, and wails all assaulted Remy's ears. As he passed the X-Men in the hall their eyes followed him, watching as he entered with yet another fallen comrade. He ignored them. 

Remy burst through the swinging door yelling for help. Hank stood with Cecilia over one of the beds, busily working over a patient. He didn't even turn but called out to Remy as he continued to work.

"Who is it?"

"Sarah."

"Injuries?"

"She's bleedin' from where her bones protrude."

"Status?"

"Unconscious. Got a pulse an' she's breathin'"

"Put her on one of the empty beds and get out of here." The tone was sharp and Remy was surprised to hear it out of the mouth of one who was usually so kind and jovial. Things must be pretty bad. Remy turned with the limp woman in his arms to survey the room. In one of the other beds lay Warren, eyes closed tightly, face contorted in pain. He lay on his side facing Remy and, though his white wings were folded so that they were mostly hidden by his body, Remy could still see the crimson color streaking a few of the once pristine feathers. 

He forced himself to return his attention to the girl in his arms. Through stiff lips Remy whispered soothing words to her, as much for himself as for Sara, while he laid her down gently on the empty bed between Warren and the unknown patient the doctors were so busy over. He smoothed her matted hair from her face and looked at her for a moment. She seemed so innocent and peaceful. She didn't deserve this, didn't deserve anything she'd been put through in her short, violent life. Bending carefully over her still form, Remy softly kissed her forehead. "Y' jus' hol' on Sara. Y' be a fighter. Everyt'ing's gonna be fine." Silently, he wished for an answer, that she would suddenly wake up. 

But there was none. 

He lifted his head and began to straighten, but as he did so, he caught Warren watching him. Remy froze and the two men's gazes locked. Remy could see the pain in those sky blue eyes, the determination to endure it. But something was missing there. It took Remy a second to realize what it was. The hatred was gone. Instead Remy was surprised to see understanding, maybe even a slight degree of forgiveness. 

He looked away, taken aback by the unexpected sentiment. Straightening fully, Remy began to turn, walking out of the room, but something pulled at him, forced him to stop. Who was the patient the doctors were working on? He turned and looked toward the bed on the far left. Henry's big, blue, furry form blocked his view. Or at least it used to be furry. Remy could actually see him shedding thick clumps of hair and the floor beneath his oversized feet was covered in it. 

Stepping to the side so he could peer around Henry, Remy examined the form that lay on the bed. The first thing he noticed was the bundle of long, silky, white hair that hung over the edge of the cot. 

Long, silky, white hair stained red with blood. 

His heart dropped suddenly in his chest and Remy almost choked. Instantly, his mind flashed back to the moments before he had passed out. A scream. Images of thunder and lighting scrolling through his disoriented head. Remy didn't want to see more, didn't want his fears proven true, but he couldn't help it as his eyes crept upward to the face. Storm's expression was limp and emotionless, her clear blue eyes closed against the horror that had befallen her. His eyes traveled downward. Her chest and abdomen were a mass of blood that the doctors were hurriedly poking through, trying to sew together the broken weather goddess. Remy stumbled backwards in shocked horror until he crashed into the wall behind him. "NON!" he somehow managed to gasp through his tight throat. 

Henry's head snapped up suddenly at the sound of his voice. The man's expression was cold and hard, a practiced shell to hold in the pain, to detach him from his patient. "Get out of here, now!" he yelled sharply. Remy stood staring a moment longer, wide eyes glued to the battered form of his dearest friend. 

And then he couldn't stand to see anymore. Turning suddenly he fled out of the room, feeling sick, thoughts of Storm coming in waves of nausea. He stumbled out of the lab, legs watery, moving for the lift. The other X-Men stared after him but he barely registered their presence. _Stormy... non,_ _please, non._ He ran unsteadily into the lift.

The lift seemed to take forever to open, and when the doors finally did slide apart to set him free, he almost fell out of them. Regaining a feeble balance, he ran across the hardwood floors and burst through the front door at full tilt.

He didn't know where he was going.

He had to get away.

His footsteps pounded loudly on the hard, grass-covered, ground, lacking any of his usual grace and elegance. They were frenzied motions, desperate attempts to get him away from images of white hair stained red with blood.

Thunder and lightning filled his senses and rain began to pour over him, matting down his long hair, plastering stands across his face and eyes.

He ran faster.

Not Stormy. Anybody but Stormy. Whywhywhywhywhy! His mind shrieked at him in despair, as if advertising the injustice of the situation could somehow change things. It couldn't. And he knew that. The mental screams continued.

Thunder and lighting etched into an agonizing cry of pain. White hair hanging limp from the body of a broken weather goddess, glazed over in a striking blend of crimsons and reds. He tried to get the images out of his head, tried to get away from them.

He ran faster still.

He ran from all the pain and despair. Ran from reality and broken dreams. Ran from the cruelty and inhumanity of life. Ran like he always did.

He wasn't fast enough. He couldn't outrun all the horrible things he'd buried within himself, all the feelings and hurt he'd tried so hard to hide. It was chasing him, a dark, ugly monster with sharp fangs that would rip into his heart and tear it bleeding and broken from his chest. He couldn't escape the pain.

No, please no. Stormy... why did it have to be you?

Was she dead? He almost choked on that thought and could feel the monster growing in strength behind him.

Faster. Have to run faster.

But he was only a man. A tired, tortured man. One who needed so badly to rest from the agonies of life. One who needed to release the volcano of emotions threatening to erupt in him, threatening to spill over in tears so rich and painful they would be tinged red with blood.

No. He would not cry. He never cried. He just ran. He just survived.

He needed to cry to survive.

His legs gave out beneath him, gone weak with stress and activity, with trembling and pain. He tumbled to the ground and sat there on his knees, trying desperately to breath through his scarred lungs, gasping great gulps of air between coughs and forcing them into his shaking body. A forest had materialized from the green blur around him, thick trees lining a dirt path. The same dirt path that he had taken his jog on earlier this day. Ironic that he would end up back here so soon in almost exactly the same position.

There was somebody behind him. He didn't need a mutant power to know that. The steps were loud and deliberate, and delicate, like a woman's might be. He knew who it was even before she walked around into his view.

He refused to look at her, refused to let her see his weakness, the drops of water that were even now beginning to spill out of his eyes, mingling with the cold rain that slid across his face.

Blood on white hair. Thunder and lightning.

He needed her. She knew this. Slowly, as if addressing a timid animal, Rogue bent before him, kneeling and gathering him in her arms. No words. How could you express in words the meaning of such a moment? It was impossible. Better not to even try.

He felt his arms move to pull her to him. And in the emotion of the moment their relationship gained an edge of simplicity and clarity that it never held normally. The past didn't matter. The future didn't count. They were simply in the present, here and now. They needed each other... and they had each other.

Her face brushed up against his, skin contact unobstructed by her mutant power of absorption, and he could feel the wet tears on her cheeks merging with his own. She felt so warm against him. With a heat like that, could she one day remove the chill in his bones forever? He didn't know. But it didn't matter. Only the pain did.

The dark monster that had been chasing him was gone, having taken his pride and left the rest of him to sit and tremble, body intertwined with Rogue's. Or maybe it had caught up to him after all and was sucking out all the pent-up emotions from years of hiding the pain, forcing him to release them in bitter tears. The Morlock Massacre, the rejection of the X-Men, loosing Rogue and then finding her again, excommunication from the Thieves Guild, countless other disappointments and tragedies—all expressed in a precious moment of weakness. And Storm. It was she that added the extra jolt and choking to his sobs. She who had sent him running.

He hated the world that had brought harm to her. Hated it to pieces.

And he held Rogue tighter. And he cried at the injustice of it all.

Around him a new round of thunder and lightning boomed and flashed in the pain-stricken sky.

Thunder and lightning. White hair stained red with blood.

The tears fell harder.

§ ¨ © ª

The rain poured heavily on the mansion roof, interrupting the silence in the den. A small gathering of X-Men lounged in the desolate room, passing the time and waiting for some word on the condition of their fallen comrades. Remy was among them, sitting along one wall and staring despondently at the lift door. His hands idly shuffled a deck of cards, the action nervous and repetitive. 

Rogue lay curled up on the floor and sleeping next to him. The tears last night had finally lulled the woman into an uneasy rest that Remy envied. But he was wired with fear and worry, and was doomed to stay up and wait out the long hours until he found out how Storm and Sara were. His own eyes burned and he let his long bangs fall into his face to cover them. They were no doubt still slightly puffy from crying the night before and he was intent on making sure the rest of the team didn't notice. It was rather embarrassing for him and he was lucky only Rogue had been there to see his emotional release. 

Remy LeBeau wasn't the type to be openly express his feelings. He'd gone through trauma after trauma, almost since he was born, and had learned that the only way to survive in such a cruel world was to separate yourself from it. To build an impenetrable wall between you and the outside. And then life became a game to him, something that wasn't real and that couldn't hurt him. It was a defense mechanism that Remy had desperately clung to since he was young. And it had hardened him, sealed him inside a cold exterior that wasn't often penetrated. Jean Luc had gotten through it. Bella, his first wife, had gotten through it, and a handful of other people... including both patients in the medlab below him... and the woman lying next to him. But once that woman had gotten through, had glimpsed the real him, she had crushed his vulnerable heart in her grip. And she had done a lot of damage... so much that he was hesitant to get close to her again. But last night he had let her see his tears. 

Remy rubbed at his itchy eyes absently. The last time he had cried had been the Morlock Massacre. Even wandering lost through Antarctica he hadn't let his eyes overflow with his pain. In fact, he had joked idly to a tape recorder he'd found in order to pass the time and ignore the hurt inside. In the years after the Massacre, he had simply pushed any and all frustration and hurt inside him... until it had exploded last night. Remy sighed and looked down at Rogue, sleeping peacefully. She mumbled incoherently and then shifted positions, pressing against him more comfortably. Well, he might as well take advantage of her closeness. Reaching down, he gently stroked her hair. It was silky under his callused fingers and the feel of it reminded him of a stray cat he had found and adopted once on the streets as a kid. Petting it had managed to soothe him somehow, and he'd soon taken up the habit of stroking the soft fur until he fell asleep every night. 

Around him the other X-Men were handling the waiting in their own ways. The team, or at least what was left of it, had come upstairs early this morning after Henry McCoy had shooed them out of the hall adjacent to the medlab, claiming that they were disturbing his patients. Remy just figured the doctor didn't like the pressure of the X-Men being so close that they were almost watching over his shoulder. Either way they had dutifully marched into the lifts and had wandered aimlessly upstairs, dispersing gradually. Some had remained. After Remy and Rogue had come back to the mansion earlier, Joseph had spent the first hour or so watching Rogue leaning against Remy as she fell asleep in his arms. Eventually Joe gotten tired of staring and scowling and had wandered off to the other side of the room to wait. Bobby had also remained, complaining absently about how cold it was and pacing back and forth for a while. He'd also spent a good long time trying o stare Remy down. 

And then there were others who had left. Particularly Betsy and Wolverine. Though Betsy had just disappeared, Logan had gone off in search of Maggot. Remy momentarily had a flashback to a scene from a few hours earlier: the door suddenly slamming open, a short stocky man framed in the doorway holding a much taller, leaner one. The water dripping from Logan's unruly hair and eyebrows, the cold, almost feral look there, one that told of barely controlled beserker rage. Him walking slowly through the room as a few despondent eyes watched him, eyes that had seen too many fallen by an invisible enemy in one night to react to anymore. The long white tail of hair that sprouted out of the center of Maggot's head swinging absently as the new X-Man was carried to the medlab. And then the pair had been gone, disappearing into the lift, leaving unresponsive faces watching after them.

Remy leaned his head back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. His mind wandered through the details of the last day. What exactly had happened? He still really didn't understand what was going on, just that all the X-Men had suddenly lost their mutant abilities, causing adverse reactions in many of them. He'd had his powers taken from him before, but then there had been Genoshan slave collars involved and other such devices. Now there was none of that. No evil villain had suddenly appeared to take credit; no surprise attack had befallen the mansion. Their powers were simply gone. Continuing to stoke Rogue's hair, Remy tried to let the feel of it beneath his fingers relax him as he thought. 

A picture of Storm played before his closed eyes, and he held it there, in awe of it. Her blue eyes were deep and heavy with sorrow and pleading. They stared at him and he had the unnerving sense they were examining his heart. She looked ragged and worn, her hair frayed and knotted, her usually immaculate costume torn and dirty, and the outlines of her body fuzzy, though her face was sharp and clear. The majestic woman wore a solemn expression and she seemed to be in pain. Her lips parted slowly, and he watched them move silently, somehow imagining that she was asking him for help. He reached out to her, wanting to do whatever he could to save her but she did not take his proffered hand, only handed him a card... the Ace of Diamonds. Looking down at the red, tilted square he suddenly had the image of it sitting on a pale white forehead on a face that had crimson red eyes... His gaze snapped to Storm and she nodded briefly, as if she knew what he had just envisioned. 

And then she began to shimmer, disappearing to be replaced by a much rougher, form. Now Sara stood staring at him, her eyes hating and judging him with perfect clarity. Reaching out she flicked a playing card at him. He caught it and looked down at the white face. The Queen of Spades. Remy's blood froze in his veins. The card of death. Couple that with the Ace in his hand that bore a blood red diamond and... Remy suddenly turned, charging and throwing both cards into the darkness around him. They exploded... forming a giant diamond in the air that looked as if it were etched with blood, before the foreboding symbol melted to the ground into a big puddle of red that shown with a metallic luster as if a thousand tiny machines made it up... 

Remy's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a sudden breath of air through clenched teeth. He blinked several times to clear his hazy vision. Had he fallen asleep? The room and its occupants looked much like they had before; if he had been dreaming it hadn't been for very long. He ran a hand through his hair as he mentally collected himself and recalled the vision. A diamond etched in blood. Sinister. He shivered at the thought, at the memories it unlocked, at the person it indicated. A diamond etched in blood. An intense animosity grew within him in reaction to the symbol, but it was accompanied by fear. Sinking, churning fear at what it meant, at what it implied, at the thought that it was engraved in his very mind...

He felt Rogue shift beside him and looked down at her. She'd been through so much recently, having been a prisoner of Sinister for a while. No doubt she had the symbol seared into her own body somewhere, acting as a sick territorial mark. Remy tried unsuccessfully to repress the shiver that traveled up his spine at that thought. Who knew what Sinister had done to her? Remembering that he still hadn't gotten a full account of her experience with Essex, Remy vowed to find out all the details soon. These dreams made him even more apprehensive that usual of the mad scientist.

For the first time since he'd woken up, Remy remembered the deck of cards in his hand that he had been shuffling earlier. A thought struck him and he was seized with a sudden unjustified fear that sent his heart diving through his chest. No, it was just a dream... that was impossible... But he couldn't help the anxious tension as he slowly looked down at the deck of cards in his hand. 

At the top of the pile the Queen of Spades, the card of death, stared threateningly back at him.


	6. Default Chapter Title

****

Part 6, Interlude 1:

The harsh, cleanliness of artificial light assaulted the large laboratory, reflecting off the sterile metal structures that filled it. A jungle of computers and machines rose up against the gray walls, an array of buttons and levers splattering the sleek consoles. Active screens displayed brightly colored graphs, charts, and diagrams that changed and evolved with the passing of every moment. There was no chair in the room, for the man—if he could still be called that—who occupied it had no need to sit.

He walked from station to station, analyzing screens of numbers and pressing buttons with practiced ease. His long white fingers stretched out to a complex keyboard, flying across it with almost inhuman speed. The display above it changed, filling with a jumble of indecipherable numbers and a slow cruel smile spread across his dark lips. Everything was going exactly as planned.

He turned and walked to another part of the room and another computer console. His steps were clean and concise, and he moved with an intimidating purpose and power. Black spandex covered a muscular body, contrasting terribly with the stark skin. From the back of his suit sprouted long strips of stiff material that were frighteningly reminiscent of spikes and talons. He'd found that they helped induce fear in his victims quite efficiently. On his chest a perfect red diamond was printed, matching the one that was tattooed neatly on his pale forehead. Its blood-like color was offset by crimson eyes that glowed devilishly, even in the bright light. This man was truly, without a doubt, something sinister.

He stopped at the desired computer station and quickly went to work at it, alternating typing with examining the information that scrolled across the screen. This was his passion. Genetic research was what he lived for; it was his mission. There was a world of specimens out there waiting to be cataloged and examined, and it was his dream to study every last one of them. Knowledge was power. It was greatness. It was life. It was omniscience. And it would be his.

But step by step. First there were those that would oppose him. First there were the so-called heroes... who also happened to be some of the most worthy specimens in existence. What was that old adage? ...Kill two birds with one stone. Another terrible smile spread across his lips. Lower life forms were so predictable. The best of them had fallen right into his grasp, allowed themselves to be manipulated perfectly. The screen flashed and displayed a new set of readings. His smile broadened further and he even allowed a dry, rare chuckle to escape his black lips. The screen simply flashed happily the words: 

****

All nano-controllers successfully in place. Mutant powers fully negated and stable in all subjects. X-Factor gene ready for further manipulation. 

Experiment: X-Men successful.

Yes, everything was going exactly as planned.

The sadistic smile adorning Mr. Sinister's face spread to reach his eyes.


	7. Default Chapter Title

(Just a note to answer a question that's been coming up: This story takes place right after the Operation: Zero Tolerance story line in the X-Men comic books. This means that Scott and Jean are up in Alaska right now taking a leave of absence so Scott can recover from his injuries during Zero Tolerance. The Professor is still missing, as he has been since the earlier Onslaught story line of the X-books. Sorry if anyone was confused. Unless you keep up with the comics, this might not make much sense. Oh yeah, and Jubilee hasn't been a member of the X-Men since joining Generation X many moons ago. Hope this helps. J )

****

Part 7

Remy's steps made no noise on the sleek metal floors, and his breaths came silently as he walked down the hall to the medlab. Simply waiting for Beast to come give the X-Men an update had become old hours ago and now it had reached the point where it was unbearable. He was going to have answers, even if it took spying to get them.

Remy stopped in front of the heavy gray door that was tightly shut. He pressed his ear against it but even his highly trained thief hearing could detect nothing. Unconsciously, his fists balled in frustration at his sides. There wouldn't be any other way to get inside of the lab besides this door, and he certainly couldn't find out anything from outside. Remy brought his hand up to rub the usual bristle of hair on his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. He could pick the lock... or he could just knock. Well if he wanted to get on Henry's good side he should probably do the latter. Hesitantly lifting his fist, Remy banged on the metallic surface. The noise echoed hollowly in the empty hall.

It took a few moments before the door opened to reveal the Beast... or what used to be the Beast. Remy had to hide an expression of shock as he stared at the figure before him, but he was willing to bet that Hank had seen the surprise on his face before he was able to get his guard up. The blue fur was almost all gone now, having fallen off to reveal red, tender skin that looked as if it had been badly burned, or maybe just newly healed after a severe wound. He seemed to have shrunk a bit too, not quite so massive and muscular, though still formidable. His hands and feet were smaller... more proportioned to his body. 

The clear blue eyes stared at Remy intently, a hard edge almost drowning out the normal kind and paternal glow that resided there. The long fangs were no more, and the thin lips were turned slightly downward. Remy found himself staring at a stranger, and not only because of the altered physical appearance. This wasn't the bubbly, bouncing Beast he knew. This was Dr. Henry McCoy trying his best to save lives.

"Can I help you? Lost perhaps?" The words were clear and precise, speech no longer hindered by overgrown canines. There was also a note of annoyance there. The doctor did not want to be disturbed right now. He was no doubt incredibly busy at the moment.

The cold exterior put Remy slightly off-guard and it took him a moment to adjust. The familiarity of the detached distance that occupied Henry's countenance was unnerving. It was the same countenance Remy put on for a thieving job. When one pushed all emotional attachments away replacing them with hard, effective, knowledge, skill, and logic. When one stopped being human for a while so that humanity could not get in the way of the goal. To see Henry forcing himself into such a state meant that things were very bad.

"Non, not lost." He returned Henry's gaze steadily.

A melodramatic sigh preceded the next words. "Of course not, things never are quite that simple. You want to know the status of your comrades I suspect."

"Oui."

Another sigh. The hard mask cracked slightly to show a glimpse of the Henry Remy knew. A tired, worn-out expression flickered across the features before it was swallowed up in the pretense of professionalism.

"Unfortunately the answer is not good. I was planning on making a quick sojourn upstairs to give the remainder of the team an update, but I suppose it would not hurt to tell you now." He seemed to take a moment to collect himself and prepare for his next words before he continued. "Apparently our X-Factor genes have been manipulated somehow, negating our powers. The change appears to be on the sub-molecular level. Needless to say this is not anything akin to a Genoshan slave collar.

"As a result our bodies are being forced to compensate for some very profound changes in our physiology and in some instances they are simply not capable. A case in point being Maggot. Do you remember those two unappealing slugs that used to follow him around?"

Remy nodded slightly. He vaguely recalled seeing them and remembered Storm telling him about them on his first day back.

"They are interconnected directly with Maggot's digestive system. Through a sort of bond that they shared he was able to draw energy from the food they ate. He has no digestive system in a conventional sense. Those slugs performed the job of the normal stomach, liver, intestines, etc. But since the suppression of our mutant abilities they have disappeared, assumedly dead. In laymen's terms, Maggot is starving to death, though the exact process is much more complicated than that.

"Warren is a bit more stable, but by no means in good condition. The cells in his wings are slowly being consumed by gangrene. In effect, his wings are dying. I'm considering amputation, but am holding off as long as I can."

He paused taking stock of Remy's tightly masked expression. As if considering not continuing with the harsh, grim details. Remy managed to look composed despite the growing sick terror inside him. The doctor had yet to mention Sara or Storm. As if on cue, Henry continued his solemn account.

"Dr. Reyes and I have recently finished surgery on Marrow. Sara's injuries are a bit of a mystery to me, partly because I do not completely understand how her powers normally function. My best guess is that there are two components to her abilities. One is the production of the bones we have come to identify with her, but there is also some kind of durability, and resistance that her body possesses. Despite the fact that bones poked through obscure places on a regular basis, no arteries or organs were ever pierced or damaged. I account this to an increased strength that these normally delicate parts possessed which made them impenetrable. The best theory I can come up with is that this aspect of her power was negated first, allowing the usually harmless bones to cause internal bleeding and damage before the bones themselves stopped growing. She's stable now... though she's lost a lot of blood. I don't know how much permanent damage may have been done."

Remy couldn't hide the terror on his face now. Though Henry never said it, Remy got the distinct impression that he was not even sure if Sara would ever even wake up. The older man's head tilted slightly in concern at the sudden paleness of the other's skin. "Do you want me to continue?"

"Yah." Remy managed weakly.

"Storm's injuries were the only ones that were not directly caused by the absence of her mutant powers. She was flying when it happened and her trauma is a result of the fall. I won't go into the details. Suffice it to say her condition is very tenuous and despite surgery and medical aid, I cannot be sure how she will progress."

Once again Remy caught the hint. Stormy might die. He forced the sick feeling down and carefully constructed some semblance of control around the raging torrent of fear, worry, and desperation within him. "Can I see dem?" His words came out somewhat normal sounding, though a bit shaky.

Henry regarded him for a moment, giving him an evaluating stare. "I suppose it could only help at this point to have somebody familiar nearby," he said finally. "But if you end up being a disturbance I will have to ask you to leave." Remy nodded in understanding. "I'm going to go inform the rest of the X-Men of what I've told you. Dr. Reyes is in charge while I am gone."

"Oui, I got it."

Henry seemed satisfied by that and looked about to move past Remy through the door when he stopped. Tilting his head he gave the young man a quizzical look. "Well, I guess that answers that question. I always had wondered what your eyes would look like had you not been born a mutant."

Remy stared at him, confused for a moment. "M' eyes?"

"You didn't expect them to remain red-on-black once your mutant gene was suppressed did you?"

It suddenly made excruciatingly obvious sense. He had noticed the world looked... well, different since he'd woken up on the roof, but he hadn't been able to put his finger on the exact change. And with everything else on his mind he hadn't given it much thought. Now he noticed why everything seemed so strange. Colors were less washed out; they looked brighter. His eyes were collecting less light than usual. He'd been born with a unique eye structure that could be attributed to his mutant abilities. It allowed enhanced night vision and let him detect some wavelengths of light out of the normal human spectrum. Remy was struck by the thought that he would be just as susceptible to the dark as anybody else now.

"What color are dey?" he asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him.

"A rather pleasant shade of russet."

"Huh?"

"Brown."

Henry actually smiled slightly, despite everything, at the bewildered, awe-struck look on Remy's face. He was Diablo Blanc no more. Though having red eyes could be advantageous at times, especially in his normal line of work where intimidation could mean everything, he had often wondered what it would be like to be like most humans. Not to have to hide behind sunglasses in fear that someone would discover he was a mutant, not to have to endure the prophecies of the Thief's Guild that condemned him as a devil, not to look in the mirror and wonder if they were true. He was free of all that. He was normal. And being normal may have cost Ororo and Sarah their lives.

Hank seemed to sense Remy's preoccupation with his fallen teammates and decided that it was time to leave. Pushing past into the hall, the echoing of his steps soon faded away into the lift. Remy stood there a moment longer taking a deep breath to mentally prepare himself. Then he entered the room.

Inside were three beds and one makeshift pad of blankets on the floor that supported Maggot. All of the patients were unconscious, except for Warren, who lay on his side much the same way as when Remy last seen him. His eyes were open and he seemed to be staring at an empty spot on the floor. He glanced up when Remy came in and gave a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement, but nothing more. Remy figured that was the best he was going to get from the winged Angel after what he knew of Remy's involvement in the Morlock Massacre and the loss of his first set of wings. But it was enough; at least Warren was willing to tolerate him.

Sara and Storm lay side by side on separate beds. Both were covered in bandages and a white sheet that extended up to below their shoulders. Both were unconscious. Dr. Cecilia Reyes was busy over Storm, stethoscope pressed to the injured woman's chest. Noticing Remy, she quickly finished her cursory exam, moving to take care of Maggot on the other side of the room and to provide Remy with at least a guise of privacy. After a moment's hesitation he decided to go to Sara first. He still didn't feel ready to face Storm.

Sara looked deathly pale, her face relaxed and expressionless. She almost looked dead. But as he reached beneath the sheet and took her hand in his he could feel the soft beat of her pulse beneath the skin. Gently he pushed some of the reddish-pink hair out of her eyes, smoothing in back with great care. A large bandage stretched across her chest above the blanket, it's mesh fabric pulled tightly. He tried not to wonder about the wound it covered.

Swallowing, he managed to find his voice. "Bonjour, petite."

Silence. He watched her for a moment, wondering what to say, finally he chose to simply depend on what he felt to guide him.

"...I know I done y' wrong in de past... but I promise dat I won' let anyt'ing hurt y' no more. Whoever's responsible for dis is gonna pay. I make sure o' dat." He gave her hand a squeeze and then released it. "Girl, y' seen more terrible t'ings in your life than should ever be allowed. ...An'... I'm sorry f' all de pain I caused you. ....I been sorry... every moment since dat night in de tunnels." He gazed at her unresponsive face. So young, and yet hardened beyond the point of most experienced criminals. He patted her hand gently and turned away.

Storm lay only a few steps away, but those steps seemed like an infinite, impenetrable distance. Forcing himself to walk, eventually he stood over her, looking down at the once majestic Ororo Munroe. He was unprepared for the feelings she evoked, pain, despair, yearning... How had that little child with whom he was a thief come to mean so much to him? 

Her eyelids were shut tight and he found himself wishing to see those clear blue eyes, sometimes white when her powers were active, contrasting with the smooth dark chocolate skin that made her look so exotic. But he was left to only remember them and envision their friendly compassion in his mind.

Her hair was pushed back from her face by a thick bandage that spanned her forehead. The long, silver locks fell in tangled strings across the edge of the bed and he found himself running his hands through them, trying to get the knots out. Even wounded and broken as she was she was still beautiful. The kind of regal creature that existed only in fairy tales and legends, too awe-inspiring to be real.

He unconsciously reached for her hand beneath the blanket and was startled to find something hard and rigid in its place... a cast. He pulled his hand back, bringing in up to cup her cheek instead. The skin lacked a certain glow and was a bit colder than it should have been. Something in the back of his mind mused on that and decided she was probably in shock.

The silence felt awkward, oppressive, and Remy suddenly felt the inexplicable need to fill it.

"Hey, Stormy," he whispered, his voice raspy. He waited, half-expecting her to suddenly sit up and return his greeting.

She didn't.

"Y' know if y' really wanted to take a break from leadin' de X-Men, dere were much better ways to go 'bout doin' it. Ever hear of paid vacations? Oh wait we don' get paid..." The joke was an attempt to lighten the tension he felt tightening around him. It failed miserably, sounding hollow and cruel. His own clumsiness and lack of grace felt like a knife stabbing his heart.

Finally he released a ragged sigh of frustration. "...'m sorry Stormy. Never was much good at dis stuff."

She didn't reply, didn't react.

"I don' know if y' can hear me. Suppose it doesn' much matter, but... I don' remember ever havin' a friend like y'. De day I met y' was de luckiest day o' m' life, cherie. It scares me ta think o' de man I might've become wit'out you. Y' always been dere f' me, 'Roro. An' y' believed in me even though I never did... I always t'ought y' were somethin' special. Often wondered if y' weren' a goddess. Sure coulda fooled me."

On some dim level he was aware of Warren and Cecilia listening to him, and was self-conscious because of it. But he needed to talk too badly. He'd kept his feelings from her so often, kept his feelings from everybody. She deserved better than that. He owed it to her to let her know how much he cared about her, even if she was oblivious and only he could hear it.

"I been doin' a lot o' thinkin'... Scary, huh? Well, after de... Trial, I regretted ever joinin' de X-Men f' a while. T'ought it caused me more pain den it was worth. But even t'ough I can't say I ain't a little bitter, I don' t'ink I would change t'ings. I only stayed wit' de X-Men in de first place t' make sure y' were okay. I mean, a house full o' people runnin' around in brightly colored spandex don' come across as de safest, sanest bunch dere is. Never expected to learn everyt'ing I did, t' change so much. An' I owe dat all t' y'. Not saying I belong here, dat I really am meant t' be a X-Man, I jus' sayin' dat I'm a better person because o' dem... an because o' you."

He brushed her cheek gently, as he watched her, eyes glazing over in the memories of the times they'd shared. He was startled to realize how much he loved this woman. It was platonic, of course, he'd known her as a child and somehow that made a romantic relationship a bit awkward. There had never been that original attraction because of the original age difference. And by the time she had been returned to her adult form, the non-romantic friendship had already been well established. Maybe if they had met under different circumstances... But he didn't need another lover; he'd had enough of those in the past. What he needed was a friend.

It struck him that he would gladly give his life for this woman. Remy LeBeau, notorious for looking out for himself, was willing to give all for another if need be. That had been happening a lot since the X-Men. Somehow a kind of nobility he hadn't known he possessed had made itself prominent, and it still amazed him at times.

Earnestly, selflessly, he bent and kissed her softly. The full lips were warm beneath his, though unresponsive. Still he found the little spark of life there encouraging. Lifting his head slowly, he gazed at her face. "T'ank y', ma cherie. F' everyt'ing... An' I promise y' like I did Sara, dat I gonna make de person responsible for dis," he gestured with one hand at her injured form, "pay. Dearly." With one last caress of her cheek he straightened fully and turned. Warren and Cecilia self-consciously flicked their gazes away from him, returning to their previous activities as if they hadn't been listening. Cecilia went back to tending to Maggot and Warren resumed staring at the floor. Remy might have found them amusing had he not had so much emotion and resolve churning through him. 

He would find the one responsible for this.

And he would make that person sorry.


	8. Default Chapter Title

****

Part 8

Remy was surprised to enter the kitchen a few hours later to see a complete breakfast in the works. The stove was occupied by Rogue who was busily frying what looked like and smelled like eggs. Joseph stood next to her mixing iced tea. After a moment of listening Remy realized that Rogue was giving the young, amnesic man directions on how to make the drink. That guy really was too sheltered.

He fought down the wave of jealousy at seeing the two together and dropped into a chair at the table across from Bobby. The other man looked at him, a dark expression on his face. Layers of sweaters clothed him and his arms were wrapped tightly around his body. He swayed gently back and forth in his seat as if he were trying to push away a great chill. Remy gave him a strange look; it was only mid-autumn and not incredibly cold for the time of year. Drake's expression darkened further in reaction.

"Where have you been?" he snapped, the words laden heavily with suspicion.

"Now really ain't de time, Drake," Remy's tone could have frozen fire. He didn't need this boy giving him trouble now.

"Avoiding the question, Gambit?"

"Non, jus' givin' y' fair warning."

Bobby seemed to retreat for a second before his expression hardened again and he decided to press the issue. "Thanks for the thought. Now answer the question."

In reply Remy leaned forward across the table, willing the unnerving, red eyes he was gifted/cursed with at birth to glow brightly. Red eyes he no longer possessed. After a moment Remy realized this but forced his stare to remain steady and unfaltering nonetheless. "I don' take orders," he sneered. 

Bobby stepped up to the staring contest, trying to meet the intimidating gaze. He failed, flinching away after a minute. "No, you just betray those who trust you," he mumbled under his breath.

Remy managed to hear the comment. Standing suddenly, he placed his clenched fists on the table, supporting his weight on them so he could lean forward over Bobby. "You f'rget dat I've risked my hide f'r this team over an' over 'gain, and dat not once was I not dere when I was needed. I proved myself. _You_ betrayed _me _by not trustin' dat I would never do anyt'ing t' hurt de X-Men." Normally he wouldn't have reacted so harshly to the insult but right now he really wasn't in the mood. Besides, that had been a pretty low blow. "You also f'rget dat I c'n kick y' butt," he added smugly.

Rogue turned from where she was, twisting so that she could keep one hand on the frying pan. "Both o' ya boys bettah calm down. We got enough problems without ya'll causin' more."

Remy didn't look at her but after another minute, when he felt Drake was sufficiently intimidated, he sat down. He remained tense and kept his eyes on Bobby a bit longer. The other man did not meet his stare, a light blush staining his cheeks. Finally Remy eased back in the seat, sprawling across it in a more comfortable position, easy confidence written across the tight mask of his features. Satisfied, Rogue turned back to her cooking. Joseph watched a moment longer and then resumed mixing the iced tea.

A long silence ensued before Rogue's southern drawl interrupted it. "So where _have_ ya been, Remy?" The question was asked casually, but there was a peculiar edge to it, like she was testing him. Asking him to put to rest some fear she had. Remy's gaze snapped to the woman standing over the stove. Even she didn't trust him!

"What is dis, an interigation?" he snapped angrily.

Rogue didn't turn to face him as she spoke. "No, sugah. It's jus' a question. What are ya gettin' all riled up about?" She was challenging him, finding his reaction to be proof that he was up to no good. His eyes narrowed unconsciously. Despite having absorbed his very essence on several occasions, she still knew so little about him. She still refused to see so much.

"Y' t'ink I'm riled up now? Y' ain't seen not'in yet."

"Stop avoidin' the subject," she retorted crisply.

"Remy, please just answer the question." He looked up, surprised to see Betsy standing nearby, looking upon him with an unreadable expression. That woman walked way too quietly. He contemplated her words for a moment. There was no suspicion there. It was said more like a statement than anything. She wasn't questioning his integrity or his motives. She wasn't accusing him. A tight smile spread across his face.

"Sure chere, jus' gotta ask me nicely," Rogue glared at him from where she stood. "Been searchin' de mansion for any sign o' what caused us t' loose our powers. I also checked t' see if Cerebro found anyt'ing. Ain't turned up not'in'." He sighed, discouraged. It was all true. After he had left the medlab, he'd searched for clues, any sort of lead. But there was nothing, and as a result the frustration was building up inside of him.

"Oh." Rogue turned back to her cooking, but he caught the blush rising to her cheeks. "Ah'm sorry Remy. Ah didn't mean ta point the finger at ya. This is just very... frustratin'. Some o' our own are injured an' we don' even know why." Her shoulders sagged a bit as she sighed.

"'S okay chere. Guess I jus' have one o' dose suspicious personalities."

A few chairs over Betsy sat down, rubbing her temple. The action reminded Remy of his own pounding headache that had failed to dissipate over time like his nausea had. It was a throbbing pain right behind his eyes and now that he was still and doing nothing it became more noticeable. It drove him to his feet in the hopes of finding a distraction. He decided that maybe making his own omelet wouldn't be a bad idea.

Wandering over to the cooking area, he set about gathering ingredients. "I leave de mansion f'r a little while an' de whole spice cabinet falls inta disarray," Remy muttered to himself as he peered into the redwood cupboard "You northerners don' have any sense o' taste." He reached in and pulled out the few flavorings he could find and turned to glance sidelong at Rogue. Her scrambled eggs were finished and she was busy pushing them onto plates to hand out to anyone who wanted some.

Remy's hand began to itch suddenly and he looked down to see tiny cuts littering its back. They were all about the size of a pinprick and looked to be maybe a day or so old. He wondered where he could have got them but passed the wounds of nonchalantly as being nothing out of the ordinary, only something he'd gotten when he wasn't paying much attention.

"Is this good?" he heard Joseph ask, referring to the iced tea he had mixed.

"I dunno, let me have a taste, sugah... oh, umm... *cough* it's... uh... perfect." Remy hid a smile at Rogue's desperate attempt to hide her distaste. She glanced over at him with a sour expression on her face that soured even further when she noticed the smirk he was wearing.

"Ya want me to leave the burner on and the fryin' pan here for ya?"

"Merci." She vacated the space in front of the stove and, balancing plates on her arms, managed to make it to the table without dropping anything. Joseph followed her and behind him, Remy heard a few muttered 'thank you's followed by the clanging of utensils as the table's occupants began to eat.

At the stove Remy proceeded to crack eggs in a bowl, beating them and then pouring them into the hot pan. It was strangely gratifying and calming to perform such a common, habitual act. A wry smile touched his lips. He'd wasted hours sitting on the roof in angst time after time, brooding over his life when all he'd really needed was some eggs to give him solace. The amusement died quickly though as the ivory color of the egg whites reminded him of the snow haired woman in the room below him fighting for her life.

At the table he heard Betsy speak up, "I checked the mansion for clues also but I didn't find anything. Wolverine is out checking the grounds, though I doubt he'll find much without his enhanced senses. I figured at least searching the guest rooms would produce results." He imagined her shrugging in the silence. "But there was nothing."

"What a minute!" Rogue interjected. "Ya checked our bedrooms?"

"It was necessary," Betsy replied calmly.

"Necessary! Ah don't think goin' through somebody's personal stuff is necessary!"

"I doubt you have much personal stuff left after Bastion cleaned the mansion out," Betsy returned.

"It doesn't mattah!" Rogue yelled exasperated, then added more quietly, "It's the principle of the thing."

"I agree with Rogue, you should have informed us of your intent before you entered our rooms without permission," Joseph added.

"Why? What do you have to hide?" The accusation in Betsy's tone was plain.

"Nothing!" Rogue retorted angrily. Remy half-turned to watch. The idea of Betsy having searched his room didn't thrill him, but he knew she would find nothing of importance. A good thief knew never to leave anything worth hiding unhidden. All his belongings were tucked safely away in his suitcase, guarded by a lock that she would have no chance of picking.

"Then what is the problem?" asked Betsy calmly. "Warren and many of our other teammates are injured and we do not know who to blame. Finding out is worth a little sacrifice of privacy."

He thought he caught a glint of sadness and regret in her eyes. Remy figured she was probably crying inside over Warren's condition but the warrior in her would never let her show it. He understood the mask she wore. He often sported a similar one himself, letting it fall only when he was surrounded by those he trusted. Lately, he'd been wearing the mask more and more often.

Rogue's eyes sparked with anger. "That's easy fer you ta say when yer not the one sacrificing yer privacy."

Bobby tried to hide the smirk on his face but failed. "Oooh, cat fight." he mumbled. Remy couldn't help a slight chuckle despite the tense situation. Rogue shot an angry look at him, which he returned with the most innocent expression he could muster.

"Did _you_ search our rooms too?" she asked sassily.

"Non petite, I didn' think I would find much considering most o' dem are completely empty." He raised his eyebrows as if to say 'including yours, so why are you so protective of it?' She watched him for a moment and then shook her head in frustration.

"This mansion used to be my home an' mah room held memories of mah whole life. Ta you it might jus' be an empty space but ta me... it's a lot more. Ya should've respected that an' asked me first." Her voice was quieter than before, some semblance of calm working into it.

"It is foolish to become so attached to such a place." But Betsy returned her attention back to her eggs as she spoke. Her body language said that she saw no point in continuing such an argument. "But next time I will ask first." That was as close to an apology as Betsy was going to get. Rogue seemed satisfied enough to let the subject drop and they continued to eat in silence.

Remy watched them all a moment longer. They had changed so much, hardened by the pummeling of suffering they'd endured. First Onlaught, then Operation: Zero Tolerance, then his own Trial, and countless other things. And now this. The smiles and jokes were gone, the family ripped to shreds by a myriad of conflicting stresses. Tensions were too strong, words too bitter, the dream too distant. What would Xavier think if he were here? The X-Men were strong, and their ties to each other had held them together through crisis after crisis... but now even those were being destroyed, leaving only a thin, worn little string connecting them. ...But then, sometimes the worn were also the strongest, toughened over time to resist even the most taxing obstacles. The X-Men would survive this. They were fighters, hard to break, hard to kill. No matter how dismal things might seem they would go on. They had to. Otherwise, what hope would the world have?

Remy tried not to consider the desolate future Bishop had brought with him. Tried not to consider the fact that all the X-Men had died except for him. Maybe that was because he wasn't an X-Man. That hadn't been something he'd really considered until now, but after the Trial it seemed plausible. Maybe the death of the X-Men wouldn't include him because he would not be a member of the team at the time. He'd never really bought into the idea that Xavier had been the traitor; it just didn't feel right. And if he was, who was to say that someone else wouldn't try and succeed in destroying the X-Men anyway? They had sure made enough enemies. The death of the X-Men. The possibility of the end of the dream had never seemed so possible, so close. And he knew the others felt it. They were doubting. And doubt leads to failure.

The eggs began sizzling behind him and Remy quickly turned, hurrying to flip the omelet before it burned. The spices speckled the yellow surface and their pungent smell filled his nose. Perfect. The food finished cooking and he slid it onto a plate conveniently waiting nearby. He set it on the counter and turned off the stove. Now what to drink? Behind him Remy heard Bobby starting to cough. Between gasps of air he managed to identify the cause of his troubles. "Hey Joseph... --cough-- ...you think you could have put another couple of tons of sugar in this thing? I don't think its –gag-- sweet enough yet." So iced tea was definitely not an option.

Contemplating whether it was too early in the morning for a beer, Remy reached into the cabinet to get a glass. Behind him he heard a heavy footfalls entering the kitchen and then someone discretely clearing their throat. Remy turned in curiosity, holding a crystal clear glass in his hand. The shiny surface glinted in the light of the morning sun filtering in through the windows.

Near the entrance to the room stood Henry McCoy, an uncomfortable expression on his face. He reached up and nervously adjusted the glasses perched on his nose. "Umm... I have some news to share with you all." He didn't continue for a moment, shifting uncomfortably as if trying to figure out exactly how to phrase his words. Remy's first instinct was that something had happened to one of the patients in the medlab and his grasp on the glass slowly tightened in anticipation.

"Come on Blue, spill it already... Oh wait, I guess you're not exactly blue anymore... umm... Peach?" Henry shot Bobby an annoyed look at his poorly placed humor and then took a deep breath, preparing himself to speak.

"Up until this point we haven't been able to determine why our powers suddenly disappeared." He paused, as if to let his words sink in. "Well, it has been determined."

Five pairs of eyes focused on the doctor with steady intensity.

"I was able to take a sample of Storm's blood and examine it under a microscope. After magnifying it an exceedingly great amount I was able to see a foreign element that was present, tiny objects, which I call nanoprobes, that were in the blood stream. And though I wasn't able to observe it directly, there was sufficient evidence to confirm that they have been manipulating our X-Factor genes. The other patients, Cecilia, and myself all have the same minute machines flowing through our bodies and it is presumable that the rest of you share them too." He paused for a second as the X-Men exchanged horrified looks. 

"But the nanos were not unmarked. I do not know whether it is an appellation or a message, but an ominous picture of a diamond was etched in red on each of them."

Red diamonds. Red like blood. Diamonds etched in blood. The image drove a cold, tight clamp to enclose Remy's heart. And squeeze. Hard. Bitter emotions washed over him. Anger. Hate. Fear. Diamonds etched in blood. He'd hoped never to hear that phrase again, had tried to escape it, though it always followed him into his worst nightmares. Diamonds etched in blood. The mark of Sinister. With a loud crash the glass slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. He leaned back and grabbed the counter behind him with both hands for support, suddenly feeling very weak.

The shattered shards of glass skittered across the floor, sending eerie chiming sounds through the room. "Remy?" Hank questioned, concerned.

"Y' sure it was red diamonds...?" The whisper was weak, disbelieving.

"Yes, positive. I even had Dr. Reyes confirm it." His brow crinkled in confusion. "Though I do not understand why that has such meaning to you."

"Dat symbol is... Sinister's mark... his signature."

Hank's eyes widened slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Oui."

"Absolutely positive?"

"Oui. Ain't a mistake. Dere only one man I know who would use dat symbol, and dat's Sinister." Remy's voice sounded faint, and he was still leaning on the counter for support, though he seemed to be regaining his composure somewhat.

"This is not good," Hank commented quietly to himself, shaking his head gently. "My stars and garters, this is really not good."

"Oui," Remy agreed.

"Wait a minute," Bobby interjected. "You're telling me Sinister put these little machines inside of us? How in the world would he be able to do that without us knowing?" Nobody provided any answer and silence prevailed, but slowly, one by one, every pair of eyes settled on Rogue. She stared at the table shaking her head as if she were trying to convince herself that the implication of her guilt couldn't be true.

Gradually regaining his strength, Remy walked over to the table. Rogue sat on a chair at one corner and Remy settled on his haunches diagonal from her, along the side perpendicular to the one she sat at. They were almost eye level and he reached across the wood surface to lay his hand on top of her outstretched one, as much to support her as to prevent her from escaping. She flinched slightly, unaccustomed to the feeling of touch on her bare hands, but remained overall despondent. "Rogue," he began quietly, "Y' gonna have ta tell me everyt'ing dat happened wit' Sinister."

She didn't seem like she was going to respond, but finally she nodded and turned slowly to face him. The eyes that looked at him were brimmed with tears. "Ah wasn't really his captive until the last week. Before that ah went ta scheduled appointments willingly, thinkin' he was jus' a doctor who could help me. It wasn't until ah decided not ta have the treatment to rid me of my powers that he revealed himself ta me." Though she was looking in Remy's general direction, her gaze was unfocused and far away, as if she were not really seeing him, but watching memories play across her mind instead. 

"Ah was unconscious most o' the time... an' for a good while mah powers were suppressed. Ah really don't know what he did ta me but... ah woke up once with black an' blues on my arm an tiny holes from some kinda injection... Ah'm sorry... that's all ah remember." She came back to herself and transferred her gaze to Hank, questioning him with her eyes.

Hank didn't answer for a moment, considering the information. "It may be possible that you brought the nanos to the mansion and they then spread like a virus. But that would indicate they are being controlled by some outside force. If you were the carrier it would be absurd to think that we were all infected at the same time, especially since we were all separated when we lost our powers. At the exact same time, I might add. We must have been infected individually and then all the probes were activated at once." He rubbed his chin speculatively. "But there is no way to prove that."

"Wait a minute," Bobby protested. "Before we start blaming Rogue, how do we know Remy didn't bring those nano thingies here. He's had a history with Sinister."

"Come on Bobby, y' ain't dat stupid. If I bought de nanos t' destroy de team, why would I infect m'self too? An' why would I stick around to be discovered?" Sarcasm spilled off the words.

"Maybe you weren't infected. Maybe it's just a deception."

"An how do y' suppose I magically transformed m' eyes from red an' black to brown?"

"Contacts?"

"Now you're reaching."

Bobby accepted defeat with a slight tinge of red rising to his cheeks. Standing, Remy turned abruptly to face Henry. "C'n we use Cerebro t' find Sinister?"

"We might be able to. But Cerebro isn't fully operational yet. Its systems were wiped when Zero Tolerance procured it and we have not been able to fully reprogram it yet. We will only have limited power. Sinister will only be detectable if he is located in a finite vicinity."

"It's worth a try," Betsy commented.

There were a few utterances of agreement, a few nods. It seemed that their next course of action was sure.

And then everything changed.

Remy's eyes squeezed shut against the stars that burst in front of them, against the burning feeling that consumed them. He could suddenly feel every movement in the room. All around there was chaos, and in front of him he could actually feel Hank changing size and growing larger. Remy's own bone structure was changing, his metabolism speeding up, his cells overflowing with energy. He was morphing on the molecular level. And it hurt. Really badly. He couldn't help falling to the ground and groaning in agony. He could feel the fear and horror of the X-Men around them and the pain of those whose transformations were as unpleasant as his own.

So this is what it felt like to suddenly become a mutant all at once.

Ouch. It wasn't an enjoyable experience.

Eventually the pain subsided enough for Remy to think straight. He knelt on the ground, forehead resting against he edge of the table and arms wrapped protectively around himself. He opened one eye carefully. When it seemed safe enough the other followed the action of its pair. Lifting his head, Remy glanced around the room, blinking several times. He'd become accustomed to having normal eyes, and now, with his mutant ones back and collecting their usual excess amount of light, the world seemed so much duller, a pastel quality tinting everything he saw. There was also the strange aura produced by the frequencies of light to either side of visible light in the electromagnetic spectrum. Light which his eyes were able to detect. He was able to see portions of the ultraviolet and infrared range while normal people couldn't observe anything beyond the visible spectrum, but normally his brain filtered it out unless he needed it. The process was similar to what the brain does to get rid of background noise. The ears hear it though the person is not aware of it. But his mind was still adjusting to having his strange sight back, and until it did he would just have to deal with inconvenience of seeing more than he was used to.

"Umm... power check?" Drake asked from the other side of the room where he was hurriedly stripping off layers of sweaters.

"I have mine back," commented Betsy distantly.

"Same here," added Rogue.

"As do I," Joseph confirmed.

"Got mine... definitely got mine," Remy croaked as he slowly stood.

"And obviously I am once again the bouncing, blue Beast." Henry gestured at the new, bright coat of fur that had grown over his massive body. Clothes hung off in rags, having been torn as the doctor regained his mutant mass, but luckily the boxers remained in tact, presumably having been oversized to begin with.

"Okay, so we got our powers back, anybody know how?" Rogue questioned. There was no answer. "Didn't think so," she said after a moment.

"I think our best course of action would be to continue with our earlier plans to find Sinister, before we loose our powers again," Joseph suggested.

"Then you will have to manage by yourselves, I'm going back to the medlab," Beast said, "I am no doubt needed there." With that he hurried out of the room. 

The other X-Men exchanged looks for a few moments before Remy broke the uncertainty. "Well what're we waitin' f'r? We c'n manage t' work Cerebro wit'out Henry—"

"Oh no..." gasped Betsy, her eyes wide and unfocussed. One hand was pressed to her head in the manner shared by telepaths when using their powers, and the other was pressed over her open mouth.

Everybody was staring at her now, anxious looks on their faces as they saw how distraught she was. "Betsy, what is it?" asked Rogue uncertainly.

"The Shadow King..." she whispered in a barely audible voice. "He's free."

Nobody moved for a long stretch of seconds, paralysis having found its was into their bodies at the words. They had known that Betsy's telepathy was holding the Shadow King prisoner on the psionic plane. When her powers had been lost it only made sense that he would be freed...

Softly, Remy cleared his throat, waiting until he had everyone's attention. "We can' do anyt'ing 'bout that now. De Shadow King c'n be dealt wit' after we find Sinister... which we still have t' do by de way..."

The comment was enough impetus to get the X-Men moving and within seconds the kitchen was deserted. Half-eaten plates of eggs littered the table along with their accompanying drinks. Remy's omelet occupied the counter, alone and forgotten and now cold. On the floor pieces of the broken glass sparkled, neglected. Where the cup's once clear and perfect exterior had shone beautifully, clean glass reflecting light gloriously, possibly reminding one—if the light was just right—of a dream castle made of crystal, there was only sharp tiny pieces, shards of the former object offensively littering the floor. 

But then glass—and dreams—always were so fragile and easy to shatter.


	9. Default Chapter Title

****

Part 9, Interlude 2

The fireplace burned brightly, frantically vibrating molecules creating blazing beauty. A blue cone dwelled in the encasement of red and yellow, its superior temperature held suspended within the lesser's grasp. Cinders littered the stone fireplace floor, telling of previous holocausts raging across tortured logs. The remainder of a newspaper that had somehow managed to escape the flame's fury lay perilously out of harm's way. It was an article about a professional gambler who had lost everything in an all or nothing bet at a local casino. The man had gone from riches to rags in seconds. A tendril of fire reached out and licked its consuming touch across the thin paper, transforming the black words into indecipherable ashes.

The light from the fire flickered through the room, casting eerie shadows across the walls and floor. The ground was clothed in a lush, midnight blue rug that contrasted nicely with the off-white walls. There was a large, extravagant bed along one side of the room, its crimson comforter neatly laid over the comfortable padding. Exquisite, matching, hardwood dresser, desk and nightstand filled the expansive space—all empty of course. For the man who dwelled in this place had as little need for them as he did for the bed. He simply kept them because he found them oddly... comforting... almost homey. There was a feeling of relaxation, familiarity, and privacy that they helped enhance in the room. It reminded him of his... humanity?

Speaking of the room's owner, he stood along the one wall of the space that didn't fit with the opulent scene. Rug, paint and furniture abruptly ended, replaced by a bastion of computers, their unfriendly polished metal surfaces a cancer to the magnificence of the chamber. There the man could be found, his stark skin taking on a frightening effect as the fire cast strange shadows upon it. His glowing red eyes stared intently on the screen in front of him. 

And he smiled.

The tiny machines he had dubbed 'nano-controllers' were working perfectly. According to his readings, the X-Men's mutant abilities had been allowed to manifest themselves exactly as he'd commanded. It was amazing to watch the change in their bodies as they transformed back into Homo Sapien Superior. It was absolutely fascinating. He typed hurriedly, calling up new screens of data on the computers built into the wall. Hungrily he read the information, face taking on a look that might be compared to a child's expression of wonder were it not for its frightening appearance. Completely absorbed in his work, the room around him faded away into oblivion. This was what he lived for. The knowledge and discoveries scrolling across the display were like a drug to him.

Of course, it would be much nicer to observe the changes in the X-Men in person rather than from a list of readings transmitted by his nano-controllers, but that would be possible soon enough. They would come to him eventually. He'd left enough clues, inconspicuous enough to force the X-Men to work a bit to find and decipher them. It might take a while, but he could wait. Such was the price to pay for not allowing them to get suspicious of overly obvious indications of his involvement. 

They would come, perhaps sooner rather than later with recent developments. Sinister had left his signature, his marking of a diamond traced in red on his nano-controllers, not expecting the X-Men to know what it meant, but figuring they'd work the connections back to him eventually. He hadn't planned for Remy LeBeau to be there with them. The last he'd known the young mutant had been banned from the team. Surely Gambit would easily identify the tiny machines as his handy work. Maybe too easily. Maybe easily enough to allow the X-Men to perceive that a trap might be involved. No matter. The price was worth paying for having a mutant like Gambit in his grasp. That price and much more was worth paying for such a genetic gold mine.

Sinister smiled again and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. All his excruciatingly careful planning was paying off. Even now the X-Men were probably searching for him with the Cerebro unit he had _allowed_ and _helped _them to retrieve from government hands, tracking a signal that he'd created to fool them into thinking they'd found him. It had been useful before in leading them to Rogue without endangering himself. While he had been miles away they'd invaded one of his bases, no doubt believing that he was somewhere within it. Or perhaps believing that they were walking into a trap since normally their Cerebro could not detect him. It didn't matter which, simply that he had been successful.

But now Mr. Sinister was leading the X-Men directly to his real location. Now he was ready to claim his prize. What wonderful test subjects they would all make. It was unfortunate that he wouldn't be able to get his grasp on the Summers' too, but Gambit compensated for that. Such extensive power would be interesting to study.

Sinister finished examining the last of the information on the computer screen. 

Now all he had to do was wait.

Turning abruptly, he surveyed the room. Along one wall there was a standing bookcase filled with books whose tattered covers looked old and worn. He walked over to it, the spandex conforming comfortably to his movements. The costume was rarely taken off, except for bathing. There was no need to change when it was perfectly suitable to his needs. Unless he was in disguise, it was his sole clothing.

Reaching the bookcase he ran his hands over the tattered books, fingers gently grazing the covers. Humans could be so primitive... but then sometimes, a choice few geniuses could create such beautiful works of literature. Genetic research was his passion, his true love, but the books... they were his companions. He lived a lonely life, with no equal to share his discoveries with, having no time to forge a relationship even if such an equal existed, but his reading allowed him to endure his solitude. Usually science created beauty and humans destroyed it, it was rare for any member of mankind to make something worth his attention.

But sometimes they did. And he was thankful for those occasions. A tiny smile spread across his lips as he chose a book. Pulling it out of its alphabetical position, he walked over to the bed and sat gently on its edge. The luxurious mattress sunk beneath him, and at first he stiffened at the unusual comfort of it, but eventually relaxed, though not quite enough to lay backward across the soft surface. The words 'Les Miserables' were printed across the book's front in gold letters. Opening it carefully in his lap, he began to read.

The words provided a strange sort of solace, as well as a means to occupy his mind as he waited for more information to be transmitted by the nano-controllers. Soon his plans would fully converge into success.

Soon. He could wait. 

Sinister was a very patient man.


	10. Default Chapter Title

****

Part 10

They had found Sinister.

It had taken a few tries to get his signature locked in, but once they had success came quickly. Cerebro had done its job and had done it well.

They had found Sinister. And he was in Upstate New York

And it had all been way too easy.

Remy paced the small room, dodging around the X-Men scattered there, leaning intently over Cerebro. They shouldn't even be able to track Sinister. They'd known that from the beginning even when they'd gone after Rogue. But what else could they have done? Abandoned Rogue to the chance that she really was in the care of a madman because they were afraid of a trap? Pretend they had never found her or assume her mutant signature or Sinister's was being forged? No, of course not. The X-Men did not give up that easily. And that simple fact had gotten them all stuck with a slew of tiny machines running through their blood and controlling their bodies. They'd walked into a trap then and they were walking into one now.

Remy didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. But what could he do?

"Sugah, ya're gonna have ta stop that pacing. It's distracting."

He turned to look and Rogue. "Would y' rather I did jumpin' jacks?" His voice was sour and sarcastic.

She shook her head angrily and returned her attention to Cerebro where a small group of X-Men, specifically Joseph, Betsy, Rogue and Iceman, were busy searching for the exact address Sinister was supposedly located at. The chances that they would be successful were slim at best, unless they had a really, really, strong lock on the villain.

Remy continued pacing.

Betsy sat at the chair before the supercomputer that was the X-Men's Cerebro. She was hooked directly into the machine, her telepathy adding extra power to it. They now knew Sinister was in upstate New York, but they still needed to find an exact address.

To the right of Betsy stood Bobby, and to her left stood Rogue and Joseph.

Remy stopped pacing and noticed something.

Joseph had a strange look in his eyes. It was faraway and distant, something like a mix of anger, determination, and contemplation. A very strange and very dangerous combination.

Remy was about to ask the man what was on his mind when Joseph suddenly seemed to come back to himself, attention snapping to the present. "I think I can help the situation," he said. 

"What are ya thinkin', sugah?" Rogue turned slightly to look at the man with the long, silver hair.

"If these nano-probes are made of metal, then my power over magnetism should be able to affect them. I may be able to short them out so that they cannot be reactivated."

"You _may_ be able to short them out? Isn't that a bit risky?" asked Bobby, a skeptical look on his face.

"Maybe. But it is a risk we need to take."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Oh great, now Magneto incarnate wants to play hero and _hopefully_ save the day."

"My name is Joseph. And I am not trying to play hero. I simply wish to help, which I believe I can do if you will let me."

"You don' have any idea how dese nanos will react t' your powers, Joe. Sinister ain't stupid, he's gotta have some kinda backup." Remy shook is head to emphasize the point.

"They are simply machines. They will not have the chance to react if I do this right. And I _will _do this right."

"We don't doubt that, sugah, but we just don't know enough about these things ta take the chance." Rogue rose a comforting, gloved hand to his arm. Joseph glanced at it briefly and then looked back up.

"Is it not more dangerous to let the nanos run around inside our bodies, acting out the orders of a mad scientist?"

No one replied. He did have a point.

"I will not be controlled by a villain!" And there it was. The determination that blazed in those blue eyes, the same determination they had seen in Magneto so many times before. That unrelenting will to succeed. And in that moment Remy knew that Joseph _would_ have his way.

And in that moment Remy also realized the implications of that way.

There was a blue aura surrounding Joseph as the young mutant rose from the ground, power spreading out in a translucent wave.

It crossed over Remy.

And his world ripped apart at the seams.

He didn't remember falling to the ground, but he found himself there, with his head pressed to the floor, arms wrapped around his body as it drew itself into a fetal position.

It came slowly at first, a trickle of excess power streaming from a tiny crack in his mental walls. Then the crack spread, creating a spider web of lines across the barrier that separated him from torrents of power over which he had no control. He watched in horror as the cracks broadened... And then the walls shattered.

He was immediately overcome with the intensity of it all. An incredible pain went supernova within Remy, originating in his chest and cascading out from there to fill his whole body in agony. He tried to scream, but the sound couldn't shake itself free from his trembling lips.

It was all too sudden, a shock like an explosion as all the power that he had traded so much to control escaped its prison.

He couldn't form coherent thoughts, could only turn panicked efforts to holding back the pure energy that emanated from him. Panicked efforts that were not enough. Potential energy was transformed into kinetic energy that cascaded through him, sliding across his body, crackling in the air. It felt like he was being pulled apart from the inside. It felt like millions of white-hot needles poking him inside and out. And it hurt. Bad.

Energy, more than he could handle, surrounded him in an aura of pink light and he could dimly feel the floor heating up beneath him. Clenching his teeth he tried to hold it back, to stop it from leaking out of him and charging the objects around him. He scurried to push the excess power behind the mental blocks he tried to create in his mind. 

But it was useless. He hadn't been able to do it in the past and he couldn't do it now. That was why he'd needed Sinister's help in the first place...

He could feel the emotions of the X-Men swirling around him, could hear their panicked thoughts as they watched him being consumed by his own power. Fear, surprise, worry. He could sense it all so clearly. Rogue's apprehensiveness about what was happening to him, terror that he might be hurt. Magneto's suspicion at Remy's reaction to the neutralization of the nanos. And a whole mansion full of other emotions that jumbled around inside his head, screaming for attention as his world ripped apart around him. As his body ripped apart around him.

He had to control it. He had to stop it. He mentally grabbed at the tendrils of kinetic energy that reached out around him, blowing up everything they touched, and slowly, tediously pulled a few back. But it wasn't enough. The floor was getting hotter, burning as its molecules scrambled about faster and faster.

His soul tossed in agony as it was consumed in a blazing, furious fire, that threatened to leave him, and everything around him, a charred, smoking, empty hulk of ashes.

Until... there was a vat of water to extinguish the flames. Cool and clean, glorious and beautiful as he suddenly felt the barriers in his brain rebuilding themselves around the power he couldn't control. Brick upon brick, tiny nanos running around his head, completing the job they were consigned for, liberating him from the wrath of his mutation. He watched as the wall rebuilt. There was only a small hole in it now, a rapidly sealing hole. And on an intuition so strong he could do nothing but act on it, he wedged his mental hand into that hole and stopped it from closing. Leaving it just big enough that he could reach into the power beyond if he wanted to, but small enough that nothing substantial could seep out and consume him.

It was over.

Remy didn't move, concentrating on drawing the kinetic energy in the floor back into himself, or rather, on changing it back into potential energy. It was a hard thing to do, since his powers really didn't work that way, but he managed to transform enough energy that the danger of an explosion was quelled, though the ground was still a bit hot.

And then he simply focussed all his attention on the tedious task of breathing. He forced his lungs to do their job of pulling air in, then pushing it out. In. Out. In. Out. Finally he felt like he had some semblance of control over himself, even if he was still shaking spastically.

His head hurt terribly and he suddenly felt exhausted. All over his body there was a burning sensation, the same kind he experienced when he overused his powers. He really would have liked to stay there all day, not moving, curled up on the floor, but he knew he couldn't do that. Slowly, he spread his perceptions out to encompass the room, rather than just himself. He realized that someone was standing over him, or rather, bending over him.

Very slowly, Remy raised his head to see who it was, wincing slightly at the pain that caused.

Hank stared down at him, a worried expression creasing his furry face. Past him Rogue, Joseph, Bobby, and Betsy were gathered, all crowding in to see if he was okay. Unfortunately for them, Hank's massive bulk effectively obscured their view.

"How do you feel?" asked the doctor.

Remy gave him an annoyed glance and then looked away. "Fine," he lied. Actually, he felt like he'd been hit by a truck... no worse—a tank.

"Of course, how else would you be? How silly of me." Hank's sarcastic words managed not to be biting, but they did express the enormous stress he was under with all the patients he'd had to deal with over the last day—most of which were friends.

After a few minutes of doing a cursory exam to make sure Remy was really okay, and after Remy made it thoroughly clear that he was not happy with being poked and prodded, the doctor asked the question that everybody in the room was wondering. "Now my Cajun friend, as it seems that you are officially still among the living, would you please endeavor to tell us what exactly happened to you?" 

Remy took a moment to consider his answer, covering his hesitation by wincing in pain. Obviously Joseph had stopped doing whatever it was he had been doing because the amnesiac mutant was standing still and quiet, lacking any sign of the magnetic energy he could weld. And Remy was able to figure out that that must mean that once Joseph had ceased his efforts in shorting the tiny machines out, the nanos had returned back to normal. The nanos. _His_ nanos. His priceless saviors, his wretched slavers, that had been keeping him functioning normally for longer than the X-Men knew. 

He mulled over the idea of telling them the truth, of letting them finally know the whole story about the true nature of his powers and the real reason he'd worked for Sinister. But the consideration passed quickly as he accepted the fact that they wouldn't understand. They would only condemn him like they had before and it would be the Trial all over again. He wondered bitterly where Rogue would abandon him this time. Maybe she'd have the grace to drop him somewhere hot instead of back at Antarctica. Then again, that might not be such a good idea either; there were plenty of barren deserts in the world that he didn't particularly wish to visit.

So he couldn't tell them... and he didn't want to lie to them. That only left one choice: distract them by placing the blame elsewhere. And conveniently enough, there was the perfect person available who really did hold the majority of the responsibility for what had just happened. "Why don' y' ask Magneto. He de one dat decided t' rattle us 'round wit' his powers."

"I am not Magneto," Joseph said firmly from around the Beast.

"Yeah, whatever." Remy slowly began to stand and Hank did the same, rising from where he had been kneeling in front of him.

"I simply directed a magnetic field at the nano-probes in our blood streams. And then Gambit fell to the floor in pain and lost control of his powers. When I stopped using my powers the nano-probes returned to their normal states; I could feel their magnetic fields realigning themselves and Gambit seemed to recover. If I had exposed them to my powers I little longer I would have succeeded in permanently damaging them," Joseph continued angrily. "I did nothing wrong."

"All dat self-righteousness. You still can' even admit y' made a bad choice. You don' know enough 'bout Sinister or dese nanos to start playin' games."

"I was not playing games." He shook his head for emphasis, long white hair swishing about as he did so. "Does no one else find it suspicious that Gambit was the only one who seems to have had an adverse reaction to the use of my powers?" Everyone looked at Joseph and then back at Remy. Apparently they all found it suspicious.

Remy was steaming. Didn't they understand what could have happened? Didn't they realize the danger in what Joseph had done? "It wasn' a reaction t' y' powers!" Remy yelled, eyes blazing. "It was what y' did t' de nanos! Don' y' get it?! I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU!" Then he promptly shut-up, realizing that he'd said more than he'd intended to, and knowing that he was dangerously close to simply diving at that thick-headed amnesiac and knocking some sense into him, literally.

So he spun angrily on his heel, and stormed out of the room, leaving them all staring behind him.

§ ¨ © ª

He really hadn't felt like going to the roof again. That activity was getting old real fast, having been extremely overused recently. It also felt incredibly useless. He needed to _do_ something. Normally he could find a way to deal with waiting, finding something to occupy his attention. But now? Now people he cared about were injured and he could do nothing to help them.

Unless he went after Sinister. The X-Men knew the geneticist's location, all they needed to do was act on it.

So instead of storming to the roof of the mansion, Remy stormed to his room and suited up for combat. He slipped into the black jumpsuit he'd used earlier for the break-in at the bank, liking the heavy weight of his cards and the knife that sat in its pockets. It would have been nice if he could have his trench coat too, but he'd never gotten it back after he'd given it to Rogue on the rescue mission. The duster was probably alone and forgotten somewhere in her room and he really didn't plan on going in there to retrieve it. Picking up his staff, now contracted into an efficient hand-held size, Remy looked around one last time to see if he had everything he needed. He did, and was just about to leave when Rogue entered. She didn't even bother to knock.

"What happened down there, Remy?"

He looked sharply up at her, anger blazing in his eyes. She returned the glare evenly, green eyes demanding an answer. He didn't give her one.

"You're hiding something," she accused.

"Oh really? T'anks for informing me," he really was tired of this. He knew what would happen next. She would prod for information she was better-off not knowing, and he would refuse to give it to her. They would yell, fight, and then storm off, refusing to talk to each other. That's the way it always worked between them.

"What did ya mean when ya said ya could have killed us?" she asked, still managing to hold her volatile temper in check.

"It doesn' matter. Can't y' jus' let it go?"

"No. I thought we weren't going ta keep secrets anymore." She looked at him carefully, searching for some sign of guilt.

He wondered if she found it. Why was he hiding this from her? She of all people should understand, having gone through so much trouble controlling her own powers. But the pain from the wound left after the Trial was too strong, the rejection too fresh. He still didn't trust her. Was afraid to trust her.

"I never said dat," he replied, and then added, more softly, "I'm sorry, chere. I can't."

"Why?" she asked, exhasperated. Her eyes were pleading, begging him to just tell her and to stop pulling away from her.

He only shook his head, not really knowing how to answer that question. Did he really know the answer? All he knew was what he felt and the vulnerability he was experiencing at having so many things out of his control. This, at least, was in his power. The key to his past was his and he wasn't ready to lend it out just yet.

Her pleading eyes turned hard before him and he saw the anger blossoming there. "Ya're nevah gonna change, are ya? Fine, Remy. You jus' keep wallin' yerself up, Ah don't care." She spun on her heel then and stomped out of the room.

He knew she was just saying the words out of anger, but they still managed to sting a bit. Forcing himself to build an impenetrable barrier around himself, the same kind she was referring to, he walked out of the room after her, following her only for the purpose of getting to the stairs.

She spun in the hallway ahead of him. "Why are ya followin' me?" she demanded.

"Don' flatter yerself. I'm jus' tryin' to get t' de war room," he replied in icy tones.

"Why?" The anger in her countenance mixed with wary curiosity.

"I wanna get de coordinates f'r Sinister's position."

"Ya're goin' aftah him? Alone?" she exclaimed in shock, assuming the worst.

"Maybe." He kept his expression and stance casual.

"Are ya crazy?" she asked, disbelieving.

"Do y' need t' ask?" he replied simply, moving past her in the hall and stalking off toward the stairs. He felt her follow him and heard her steps fall into time with his own.

"Ya can't go alone."

"Watch me," he suggested mildly as he reached the foot of the stairs.

"That's suicide."

"Really? Well, it's better dan stayin' here an' watching Stormy an' Sarah die. _Dat_ would be suicide." He forced the words to come out cold and unfeeling, fighting the wave of despair that should have accompanied them.

She continued to follow him, though she didn't speak anymore until they reached his destination. When he entered the war room, he was rather annoyed to see that everyone but Henry was still there. A couple of hostile looks were flung his way, which he met with graceful indifference. The hostility turned into alarm as he pushed past them where they were gathered around Cerebro and started entering commands into the computer.

"What are you doing?" Betsy demanded.

He didn't answer. He really was tired off answering stupid questions whose answers were really quite obvious.

"He's tryin' ta get Sinister's coordinates so he can go aftah him," Rogue supplied from where she stood by the doorway.

There were a few exclamations traded behind him in reaction, most centering around the phrase 'stupid Cajun', but he didn't really care. His attention was focussed on the computer screen. It was still searching for Sinister's exact position, though it was narrowing the options down considerably. There was a tiny countdown display that said the search would be complete in 30 seconds. He waited them out tensely, no longer even hearing what the other X-Men were saying.

Finally, he got the information he needed.

An address. Gambit stared at it, logging the location into his memory.

Then, he straightened, turning to walk out of the room. Joseph stepped in front of him to block his way. "You cannot go alone."

"I'll decide what I can an' can't do," he replied solidly. "Now get outta de way, Joe."

"How were you planning on getting there?" Betsy asked as she stepped up to join Joseph in creating a human wall in front of Gambit.

"I'll hotwire Logan's bike. He c'n survive wit'out it f'r a few hours." He said the words in all seriousness, as if it had been his plan all along and not something thought up on the spot.

"You sure got one big death wish," Bobby added as he too joined the others.

"Yeah, sugah. Ya think Logan's just gonna let ya take his motorcycle?" Rogue asked, and then added her own mass to the bunch of people in Gambit's path.

"'Course not. But de man's upped an disappeared since after he brought Maggot down to de medlab, so I figure he won't notice." This was all said as Gambit made his way around the X-Men blocking his path. He didn't get very far. Logan suddenly appeared in the doorway, a low growl rumbling from him.

"Really?" the short Canadian asked sarcastically. "Ya ever touch my bike, Cajun, an' yer not gonna have all yer limbs attached when yer done. Now what's this I here 'bout us goin' after Sinister? It's about time."

"No us. Jus' me," Gambit stated definitely.

"We're not gonna let ya go alone, sugah. The X-Men stay together."

Remy whirled around to face Rogue. She stared at him steadily. There was a moment of uncertainty and he fought with something inside of himself. Then finally, he barked out, "Fine. But I'll only wait f'r the rest of y' for ten minutes. Then I'm leaving." Everybody nodded their agreement and hurried out of the room, making good on their time to get ready.

And then Gambit was left alone, waiting for his team.

Waiting for a fight with Sinister that he knew, deep down in his gut, would be paramount in its importance. Waiting for a fight that he envisioned with an ominous, threatening aura around it.

There was a chill slithering through his bones, not the normal ever-present one that had become a part of his persona. This was extra cold, etching frigid fear and unrest into his soul. This was the touch of death.

And in the empty war room of the X-Men's mansion, Remy LeBeau shivered. 


	11. Default Chapter Title

****

Part 11

The X-Men walked out of the darkness of Psylocke's shadows to emerge in the peacefulness of a suburban town. Houses were placed in neat little rows, each with matching trim lawns, all signs of autumn raked off the perfect pristine lawns. The area was definitely wealthy, the homes standing at two stories and sometimes three, lavish curtains lit by soft glowing lights behind the windows.

And then, down the road, there was a long space where no houses were, a little island of forest stuck in the middle of the pleasant neighborhood.

Gambit would have bet money that Sinister was situated somewhere in the middle of that little patch of trees. He glanced at the X-Men and then back at the wooded area. They all nodded in agreement to the silent communication, moving off in a strategic formation towards the area. It was almost like old times, when they had all functioned together as a team as smoothly as an oiled machine. There was no room for infighting and animosity among the team when you were going into battle. Otherwise you didn't come out alive.

They reached their destination quickly and quietly, peering into the trees to see what lay beyond. Here Wolverine took the lead, letting his enhanced senses guide him to his prey. They all followed without comment or argument.

The forested area was thick as the X-Men walked through it—unnaturally so, Gambit noticed, as if someone had made sure that the trees were especially crowded so that they could act as a blanket, hiding what lay beyond. There was a strange silence, and this too was unnatural. There were no birds chirping, no rustling of small animals running through the bushes. It was midday and the woods should have been teeming with life. But they weren't. Other than the vegetation and trees, which had no choice but to stay where they were rooted, there was no other sign of anything alive. This fact made for a very ominous and eerie air that hung about the six figures as they quietly made there way through the desolate ecosystem.

A few minutes passed before Wolverine suddenly stopped. "I can smell 'im," he growled softly. The short Canadian's face scrunched up as he sniffed the air. "We're almost there." And then, just as suddenly, he began walking again, though a bit slower. The X-Men followed, adjusting smoothly to his unpredictable maneuvers. Gambit hung behind, trailing slightly, to make sure that they weren't being followed. Even when he was sure that no one was behind them, he still couldn't shake the feeling of doom that was so avidly stalking him. Something bad was going to happen. Something really bad.

And then they came to a wide clearing. With a white house in it—or something closer to a small mansion. It was three stories and had large bay windows with midnight blue curtains. There was only one light on inside, and it was in a room that sat on the highest floor all the way to the right. Gambit's eyes drew to it immediately, and locked. Sinister was in there. He knew it. He didn't know how, but it was an intuition too strong to ignore—and Gambit's intuitions were usually right.

They had stopped, crouching at the edge of the woods. "So what's the plan?" Rogue whispered to no one in particular. Gambit crouched beside her and waited for someone to reply.

No one did. And after a few moments he decided that if no one had any ideas he would share his. "Dat lit window 's probably our best bet. Somet'ing's goin' on in there. Might be where Sinister is. We be best off if we split up an take different routes there. 'Course Sinister probably has booby traps everywhere, but somebody's bound ta get through."

Wolverine nodded his agreement. "I'll take the ground. Nobody would expect us ta just walk in the front door. Ya'd have ta be crazy ta do that. Luckily, that ain't a problem for me."

"I'll take the ground too." Psylocke added. "But I'll search for a back door."

"Ah got the air." Rogue glanced sideways to address the other X-Men where they crouched beside her. Gambit nodded in agreement, as did Joseph who quickly offered to join Rogue in the sky. Iceman chose to take the most direct route using his iceslide to reach the window. That left everyone decided but Gambit.

"I'll come down from de roof. Dere's a drain pipe near de corner of the house that I c'n climb real easy." Gambit gestured vaguely toward the spot.

And then it was all figured out. The only thing left to do was to act on their plans.

"Remy," Rogue whispered so that only he could hear her. He turned to face those sparkling green eyes next to him, and waited expectantly for her to continue. "Ah—just be careful, okay?"

He smiled faintly and said softly, "Careful? 'Course not." But the words lacked any jovial quality, and the two shared a look that spoke volumes of raw emotion. This was her was of apologizing for their fight earlier, and he knew that she was scared. Scared that they were never going to see each other again, that one—or both—of them weren't going to make it out alive. He understood. He felt the same way, had since before they'd left the mansion.

Their eyes remained locked for a moment longer before Gambit finally tore his gaze away and settled it back on the lit window. Time to avenge Stormy and Sarah like he'd promised. "Come on people, let's move," he whispered forcefully, and then he was running across the field to the house, trusting that the others would follow him.

§ ¨ © ª

The roof was covered in red shingles that shifted and cracked under Gambit's weight. He crept across them as quietly as he could, outwardly graceful and calm, inwardly anxious and apprehensive. His heart was pounding violently, and his lungs were threatening to start rebelling again. The sweat that dripped from his skin wasn't a result of the warm day or any exertion on his part. It was the fear and anxiety at facing a figure from his past, at having to stare into the eyes of the man who had had such a profound and adverse effect on his life. 

Sure, Remy had faced Sinister on other occasions following the Morlock Massacre, but now more was on the line. The geneticist was manipulating them directly, down to the molecular level, and they had no control over their own bodies anymore.

Gambit hated not being in control.

He also hated the sick feeling that had taken up residence in his stomach ever since Joseph had used his powers to manipulate the nanos running around in his body. It had been easy to forget the powers when they were safely tucked away and out of reach, but Joseph had released them, if even for a short time, and with those powers memories had resurfaced, terror at the atrocities those powers had inflicted...

Gambit took a deep breath, filling his lungs slowly and carefully. He was almost there. His feet moved of their own accord, used to the feel of the peek of the roof beneath them, experienced and steady with the training they'd been dealt over the years. The kinesthetic sense that was Gambit's to command spread out about him like a halo, as he pushed his kinetic field to its limits. He could feel Iceman enter the room that was the X-Men's destination, iceslide trailing behind him and melting in the sun. He could also feel Iceman suddenly stop moving and fall to the floor. Gambit froze where he was. Something had happened. Bobby was down.

Rogue was moving in next with Joseph right behind her. Gambit tried to yell for them to stop but it was too late; they disappeared under the lip of the roof on which he stood and a moment later he felt two more bodies drop in the room under him with his mutant power. The blood in Gambit's veins felt as if it had frozen. They hadn't even put up a fight, had simply... fallen. He had to warn the others.

But Psylocke and Wolverine were already inside the mansion, making their way to the room from the inside.

Suddenly, Gambit was in motion, knowing too much time had already been lost. He flipped off the peek of the roof, grabbing the ledge and swinging into a window in the room next to the one the others had disappeared into. Glass shattered and embedded itself in the exposed parts of Gambit's skin as he swung through the window pane into the room. Immediately crouching into a defensive position, he look around, narrowed eyes evaluating his new surroundings. The room was small, at least as far as a mansion was concerned, and was adorned with lavish decor. A bed rested along one wall, crimson sheets perfectly made, and a huge armchair sat along the other. The rug was a shade that matched the bed sheets perfectly and he noticed that everything in the room fit immaculately and in fact, seemed almost meticulously designed and fitted.

It was nothing like Gambit was expecting. He pulled his staff out of its pocket in his jumpsuit and telescoped it to full length. The solid metal gleamed in the light that poured through the broken window, and the heavy weight felt good in his hands. Silently he walked to the wall closest to the room that the other X-Men had disappeared into. He placed a hand on it, leaning on the bed that stood in his way, and tried to feel for any motion. There was none. That meant Rogue, Joseph and Iceman were not moving.

His stomach sank even further and, as impossible as it seemed to him, his heart rate picked up more. Rogue, Joseph and Iceman were not moving. Were they... no he couldn't consider that possibility right now, couldn't handle the oppression of such an idea. All he knew was that they weren't moving, he wouldn't assume more.

Gambit's head snapped towards the door of the room. Somebody was in the hallway outside, approaching it with a predator-like grace. Wolverine. It had to be. Moving toward the room where the rest of the X-Men were. Moving toward the silent enemy that had taken the rest of them down without so much as a yell.

Running toward the door, Gambit swung it open to find that Wolverine had already passed him and was moving towards the room next door, the one at the end of the hall. He had to stop him. Moving completely on instinct, Gambit dove at Wolverine, tackling him while at the same time holding a hand over the other's mouth. They rolled together on the floor, Wolverine struggling against Gambit's grip.

"Logan, come on. It's me," Gambit whispered sharply. The Canadian answered by biting Gambit's hand where it was pressed firmly on his mouth. Holding back a yelp of pain, Gambit pulled back his injured appendage, cursing quietly as he did so. They continued rolling, each trying to get the upper hand before they crashed into the hallway wall and were forced to stop.

There was the sudden sound of a 'snikt' and then Gambit found himself pinned under Wolverine, three gleaming claws aimed at his neck. "I wanna know why ya tackled me, Cajun, and yer answer better be good 'cause I ain't in a good mood."

Gambit looked angrily at the man sitting on top of him, resisting the instinct to fight back. "I'm stoppin' y' from makin' a mistake, mon ami," he answered harshly, voice still quiet under some pretense of stealth, though their little scuffle probably would have alerted anyone to their coming.

"Wrong answer." Wolverine's angry gaze darkened as he inched his claws slowly closer. "I'll be the judge of when I'm about ta make a mistake."

Gambit just shook his head with what mobility he had in his compromised position. "Non, y' can't go in dat room."

"Why not?" came the answering snarl. The suspicion was obvious in Wolverine's expression now and Gambit suddenly realized what his teammate was thinking.

"I ain't workin' with Sinister."

"I never said ya were."

"You insinuated. Look, we don' have much time. De other X-Men are down."

Wolverine gave him a slightly surprised look, though it was hard to identify underneath the feral rage. "How do ya know that?"

"I felt dem fall," Gambit answered, red eyes intent as he waited for Wolverine to question him further. The X-Men didn't know about his kinesthetic sense; it was something he'd always kept hidden under the category of 'don't show all your cards at once'.

"Yer a telepath?" Wolverine asked, rather sardonically.

"Non, I c'n feel movement around me. It's a natural extension of m' kinetic abilities. I create a kinetic field around me an' c'n feel any movement through it."

"An' ya never told us?"

"Nope. Had t' earn de title of most mysterious X-Man of de year somehow."

"Ya didn't need any help for that."

Gambit ignored the jest and noted that Wolverine's claws were not quite as close to his jugular as before. Now all he had to do is get the Canadian off of him, the heavy weight was starting to hurt. "De X-Men entered dat room," Gambit tried his best to nod toward the room at the end of the hall, "and collapsed immediately after. Didn't even struggle 'fore they went down."

"He's telling the truth." Gambit looked past Wolverine to see Psylocke walking down the hallway toward them. The short man pinning him didn't even turn to look, keeping his eyes steadily on Gambit. Which was rather useless in Gambit's opinion, because if he really wanted to fight Wolverine he would have done it already, in fact, he probably wouldn't have even let Wolverine pin him like this, or at least not so easily. Of course, he couldn't blame the other for playing it safe; he would do the same if their positions were reversed.

"How do ya know?" Wolverine questioned.

"I was maintaining a light telepathic link with all the X-Men, to monitor their movements, but once Iceman, Joseph, and Rogue entered the room I lost contact. I felt them lose consciousness, though I'm not sure exactly what caused it." Betsy came up beside them, purple eyes taking in the situation with disdain. "Stop fighting each other, we have a bigger enemy to worry about."

Slowly, Wolverine lifted himself off of Gambit, though hostility remained in his eyes as a warning. Taking a deep breath at the sudden feeling of relief that came with having an over-200-pound mutant lifted off of you, Gambit gave Wolverine an annoyed look and got up himself.

"So what do we do now?" Gambit inquired quietly.

"We find out what caused the other X-Men to go down," Psylocke replied rather manner-of-factly.

"An' how exactly do we do dat?" Gambit asked, sarcasm touching the words.

"I go in there and maintain a telepathic link with both of you, so that if I fall prey to the same force that the other X-Men did, I can at least tell you what it is before I go down."

"That's a bit risky, darlin'. Ya sure ya want to try that," Wolverine was looking at her intently.

"Yes."

"Any arguments, Cajun?" Wolverine questioned, looking over to Gambit.

"Non, sound good t' me. Sounds crazy, but good."

Psylocke nodded as a reply. "I'm going to switch over to telepathy now." *Can you here me?*

*Yeah, loud an' clear.* Gambit answered mentally. And then he heard Wolverine follow suit and reply in the affirmative. So, he was not only linked to Psylocke, but Wolverine too. He really hated the feeling of other people running around in his brain, but he figured he could deal with it as long as nobody tried to dive below the surface.

And then without warning, Psylocke simply walked into the shadows cast in the hallway and disappeared. Gambit looked over at Wolverine, "I hate when she does dat."

"Me too," Wolverine agreed.

*Okay, I'm in,* Psylocke said. Gambit immediately focused his attention on the voice in his head. *Joseph, Iceman, and Rogue are on the floor near the window. They seem unharmed. I don't see anyone else in the room. Wait—there is someone in the shadows. It's—it's Sinister, and... he's smiling. He has a device in his hand with some buttons on it. He's reaching down to press one. I--* And then, abruptly, Psylocke's voice fell silent. 

*Betsy?* Wolverine called urgently.

Gambit looked sharply at Wolverine. "What happened?" he questioned.

"Don't know, you're the one who can feel movement."

Gambit already had his eyes closed, reaching out with his kinesthetic sense into the room. "She's not movin'."

"Which means that we're the only ones left. Any thoughts on what just happened?" Wolverine ventured, turning hard eyes on the other man.

"Not a clue."

"Didn't think so."

"'Cept..." Gambit's face turned thoughtful and Wolverine gave him an expectant look. "Right before Betsy went down Sinister pressed a button on some kind o' device. Maybe dat device 's controlin' de nanos. Dat would explain why no one put up a fight; de machines in deir blood simply knocked dem unconscious before dey could."

Wolverine nodded slowly, hair rustling softly. "Then we're gonna have ta take Sinister by surprise before he can use his little remote control on us."

"An' how we do dat, mon ami?"

A predatory smile was settling on Wolverine's face. "Simple. We give him bait an' then we hook 'im."

§ ¨ © ª

.

Gambit was back on the roof, creeping stealthily toward the last room on the right side of the house. Both he and Wolverine had decided that he was the quietest, having been trained as a thief since he was a young child. And therefore the job of surprising Sinister was his.

He was almost to the window and was mentally counting off seconds in his head. Soon it would be showtime. Only 20 seconds left until Wolverine provided his distraction to cover Gambit's attack.

Reaching the lip of the roof that overhung the window to his destination, he crouched down to wait. Once again the sheer silence of the day overtook him. The unnatural stillness did nothing to slow his beating heart.

15 seconds.

He wondered idly how he had ended up here, facing Sinister with only one teammate left. Had saving Rogue from Sinister been a mistake? Was she really the one who had spread the nanos to the rest of them? All evidence seemed to indicate that... except... how could she have transferred them if she couldn't touch anybody? They must have spread some way other than direct contact.

5 seconds.

His mind continued to count down seconds despite its other meanderings. Soon it would be time. Soon he would be forced to face Sinister.

3 seconds.

A cold calm spread through him, a kind of shield against the fear and anxiety. Feeling evaporated in the pretense of action. He would do what needed to be done.

1 second. It was time.

He took a deep breath and slid off the edge of the roof, catching the ledge neatly and swinging into the open window. A split second before he hit the ground he heard a loud, feral yell belonging to Wolverine.

There were X-Men strewn on the floor nearby and he quietly stepped over them, eyes locked on his target. Sinister stood in the center of the room, facing the door that was opposite the window Gambit had entered from, as Wolverine dove toward him recklessly, claws gleaming and leading his body as he flew through the doorway toward the mad scientist.

Gambit was moving quickly and unnoticed, the world in sharp focus, taking long, silent steps toward Sinister as the geneticist lifted a black device that looked like a remote control and calmly pressed a button. He stepped aside and Wolverine fell harmlessly on the floor, skidding to a halt after a few moments.

Wolverine was unconscious. Gambit was alone. But he was also ready to strike. Having used the time and distraction Wolverine had provided wisely, Gambit was now behind Sinister, in reaching distance. With one fluid motion he swept his leg out in a high roundhouse kick that connected with the back Sinister's broad shoulder's, swinging his staff a moment later to hit the remote upward out of Sinister's hand. Sinister went down rather predictably, and as he did, the conflicting motions of his body and the little machine he held caused him to release it. Gambit followed up with a triple barrage of charged cards that met their target square in the chest. The remote flew through the air and landed a few meters away.

Any other man would be dead by now. Sinister was not any other man.

For a moment Gambit could make out a hole in Sinister's chest where his cards had hit but that quickly sealed up. And then Sinister was moving, the element of surprise having been exhausted. He struck out with a large burst of energy that flew out towards Gambit. Gambit would have dodged. It wasn't beyond his ability to do so, mutant genes giving him increased speed and agility. He would have, but he was distracted by a sudden bout of coughs that overtook him. Gambit was hit square in the chest and went with the attack, letting the momentum roll him to his feet.

When he looked back at Sinister he found the man standing, looking rather unharmed, and holding the remote control, finger wavering perilously over one of the buttons. Gambit didn't need any help figuring out what would happen if the villain was allowed to press it. He had to stop him somehow. Fighting was out of the question; once Sinister saw a threatening move he would put an end to it, disposing of him as easily as he had Wolverine by forcing Gambit into unconsciousness.

He needed a distraction. So he started to talk.

"Essex," he snarled.

"LeBeau," the other returned with a smile that was almost, in some twisted way, warm. It had the effect of sending chills down Gambit's spine.

Red eyes met red eyes. "We found out 'bout de nanos. Dose seem ta be a favorite little toy o' yours."

"You would know better than anyone else," the pale man answered steadily.

"So how'd ya do it? Were de little critters hidin' out inside Rogue when we rescued her? Was dat whole kidnappin' a trick t' infect us wit' de nanos?" Gambit asked coldly. He was searching for a plan but none was coming to mind. And though he was keeping Sinister busy, he wasn't distracting him enough to allow him to perform an unexpected attack.

"Actually, Rogue didn't infect the rest of the X-Men. She can't touch anybody, how do you expect my nano-controllers to spread under such conditions?"

"T'ought maybe dey were airborn." Gambit forced his tone to remain nonchalant, but it was getting hard. The cold professionalism was slipping away under the glare of those red eyes and he was starting to feel the fear build up in him. He was running out of time and Sinister was not one to provide an opportunity for an escape.

"Airborn?" He sounded appalled and shocked at such an idea. "Really, Remy, I expected better of you. You should know that such a method of transfer would be much too sloppy. There would be no way of guaranteeing that the nano-controllers would actually reach another subject. They could simply drift in the air and never be picked up. And who's to say that those members of your team with better eyesight, like for example Wolverine, wouldn't spot them and realize something was amiss. Use that brain of yours, LeBeau, I know you are capable."

"Fine. If Rogue didn't spread de nanos to de rest of de X-Men, den who did?" Gambit questioned, the words hard and hostile.

"You did."

Gambit stopped breathing. His eyes widened suddenly at the unexpected answer and he thought his knees might give out beneath him. Sinister was smiling broadly.

"But... how?" he asked eventually. Actually, it was barely more than a croaked whisper.

"Simple, really. Rogue did play a part. I injected the nano-controllers directly into her blood to infect her, but in addition I spread them across her skin and clothes. She was crawling with them when you came to save her, though I doubt you would have noticed; you were a bit distracted at the time as I recall from the tapes I later watched of the event. Once you picked her up, the nanos crawled from her onto you, and, via special programming, burrowed into your skin and entered your blood stream."

Without really thinking as he did it, Remy looked down at the back of his hand where he had noticed tiny, little cuts earlier. The wounds were mostly healed, leaving only ghost images behind, but suddenly he had an idea of where they'd come from. Had that been where the nanos entered his body? He looked up suddenly to meet Sinister's gaze. The other was smiling, knowingly.

"You, of course, have no problem touching people, and every time you did, some nanos would push themselves out from under your skin and bury themselves in the other person," Sinister went on.

Remy was suddenly filled with flash memories of various times when he had touched people over the last few days. Wolverine when he had handed Rogue to him after saving her; he remembered touching skin on Wolverine's arm above where Wolverine's gloves ended and below where his uniform began. Gambit had been wearing his signature gloves, which left certain fingers exposed, at the time. It made charging objects with his power easier, even if he had to be more careful not to leave finger prints places. Cecilia Reyes when she had helped him after he had gotten sick during his jog. Storm when—oh no... He suddenly felt very, very sick.

And Sinister was still smirking. It was strangely reminiscent of Remy's own patented smirk, only this was colder, evil. And then the red eyes set in that unnaturally pale face drifted down to the remote control in his hand. Remy stared at him numbly, the red diamond traced in Sinister's forehead burning into his mind. Red like blood. Diamond etched in blood.

"Goodnight, LeBeau."

And then there was the soft sound of a button clicking and Remy's world disappeared into darkness.


	12. Default Chapter Title

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Part 12, Interlude 3

The room was medium-sized, and adorned in a way that should have made it appear comfortable. But it didn't. Instead there was a heavy oppressiveness to the air, a steely coldness that clung to the furniture and sent shudders through the tension in the musty atmosphere. There wasn't the warmness and homeliness that came with the occupation of a comfortable inhabitant. No signs that this room was a part of someone's life. Only the empty furniture that pretended to be components of a normal bedroom. A guise that fell to pieces with the heavy ominous air that hung in the room.

The bodies on the floor did not help.

Neither did the stark pale man that stood over them with the strange costume and terrifying face that bore red eyes and a diamond colored onto his forehead.

Sinister looked down at Gambit where he had dropped to the floor. The young man had fallen face first, collapsing as Sinister sent the command to the nano-controllers in his body to made him loose consciousness.

The expression on Sinister's pale, frightening face was curious, reminiscent of a scientist examining a specimen—but then, that was what Gambit was to him, an object to study and catalog. Though, he must admit, this was a rather special object. Not many mutants had such valuable genetic material, such power. Lucky for him, this scientific marvel was now in his hands with no hope of escape.

There had been flaws in Sinister's plan to capture the X-Men, of course. There were always flaws. But the key was making them as subtle as possible and making them unlikely to be acted upon. Apparently, he had succeeded in that—but then, was that really a surprise? He was superior to the X-Men. Of course he would survive over them, of course he would win.

His crimson, burning eyes grazed over the floor, taking in the crumpled figures. All of them would make wonderful specimens to study. It was a shame that some of the others had been damaged by the effects of the nano-controllers, such as Storm and Archangel. No matter. He had the rest of the X-Men to make up for it and the added bonus of having some of his greatest enemies and opponents eliminated. Not too bad for a day's work.

And then the frightening smirk slithered across his face, the dark cold lips turning upwards, and he felt the full elation of his victory. The bright light of the room glinted off the rich color of his eyes and accentuated the bright diamond on his forehead.

Knowledge was power. It was greatness. It was life. It was omniscience. And it was now his. 


	13. Default Chapter Title

You're all going to want to kill me by the time you finish reading this part (and a very long part it is), but rest assured, there is a sequel!!! There is a short story that takes place immediately after this story called "Tears at the Crossroads", and after that there is a major multi-chapter story that I am working on that continues the arc. It's not finished yet (please don't hurt me!), but I'm working on it. So there _is_ more to come. This isn't the end, nope, don't worry… you're not getting off that easily… maniacal laughter ensues

Love always,

Galaxia

****

Part 13

__

[He is in a theatre, one that is full of people, smiling and clapping at the performing dancers on stage. The place is alive and he revels in that feeling of life. Or tries to anyway. Next to him sits a pretty brunette. Her brown eyes are wide and laughing, watching the stage and enjoying the show. He glances at her sideways and grins at her. She catches the glance and smiles back. A look is shared, which means nothing to him but everything to her. He is simply going through the moves, his heart empty at the death of his wife, Belladonna. But he is trying, trying to get past the cold hole that sits in his chest, trying to learn to live again.

He turns his attention back to the figures on stage. The place is like the Seattle version of Radio City Music Hall, can-can dancers jumping to upbeat, fast music. They're wearing short silver dresses that sparkle in the light. He wonders absently if all the glitter on them would hurt his eyes were he not wearing dark sunglasses to hide them.

It starts as a burn in his chest that slowly trickles down his arms and legs. It's the kind of sensation he experiences when using his mutant ability to charge objects with kinetic energy, only he's not using his mutant powers right now—or not trying to anyway. But he sees his hands start to glow with energy, feels the burning sensation growing throughout his body to a strength he's never experienced before. And no matter how hard he tries to fight it, he can't stop the power from growing within him.

He tries to hold the energy in check and succeeds for a short while, the only outward sign of his distress the uncomfortable look on his face and the slight luminescence of his fingers. He lasts about a minute before he feels as if something has snapped within him, and then he can't contain it anymore. Power, power unlike anything he's ever felt before is flowing out of him, charging up the chairs, the floor... the people.

He tries to yell a warning but it is too late. His mutant ability is already out of control and he doesn't know what to do. He's never experienced this before.

There are screams of pain around him and he realizes in horror that his power is no longer restricted to inanimate objects. There is panic everywhere now, yells and curses, cries of agony. He wants to make it stop, wishes it were all a bad dream. If he pinches himself he'll wake up in a nice cozy bed. He almost convinces himself that this isn't true—that this is all a nightmare, and reaches down with two glowing fingers to squeeze the skin on his arm with them. Nothing happens. It's all real.

He doesn't even need to touch things to blow them up. He sees the stage ahead of him explode simply as a result of him looking at it. Squeezing his eyes shut he tries to make it all go away, pretend it's not real... but he can feel their pain. He can feel them! He's always had low-level empathy, but never like this. Suddenly he experiences the emotions of those around him as if they were his own, and he screams out in the pain of a theatre full of tortured people.

And then, it all begins to end. The power that radiates out of him seeps away and suddenly he is back to normal. Normal being relative of course—he will always be different, always be a mutant. He looks around. There are people lying on the floor, dead or dying. And his date... he almost vomits at the sight of her and runs out of the theater retching in horror. What has he done...? What has he done...?]

Remy opened his eyes slowly, shaking away the nightmares, the memories of times better left forgotten. It took him a moment to realize that he was lying on the floor, a cold, hard floor that felt suspiciously like metal. Lifting his cheek gently, he cautiously looked around... and immediately put his head back down with a moan, shutting his eyes.

He was in Sinister's lab.

Building up courage, Remy lifted his head again and slowly began to sit up. He was in some kind of glass chamber, startlingly reminiscent of a giant test tube that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. There was some moving room, not enough to be truly comfortable, but enough to stretch out and lay down. 

If he could charge the glass that enclosed him maybe he could get out of here. He still had his powers; he couldn't explain how, but he could feel them. Reaching out carefully, he touched one glass wall... and jumped back suddenly as a force field appeared and gave him a brief shock. Oh, this was just great. If he couldn't touch the wall he couldn't charge it. Briefly he reflected that it hadn't always been that way, but he'd made the decision long ago and there was nothing he could do about it.

He looked around, taking in the area surrounding his clear prison. The other X-Men were in glass cages similar to his own, arranged in a semi-circle along one edge of the large square room. They all appeared to be unconscious.

The actual walls, ceiling, and floor of the room were a silver metal, and consoles of computers shot up from the ground in front of each glass tube. Wires ran through holes in the ceiling, multi-colored and hopelessly tangled, reaching into contraptions hooked to the base of each of the X-Men's prisons. It all looked like something out of a really bad sci-fi movie. And Remy was stuck in the middle of it.

His red eyes searched for any sign of their captor. There was none. The room was empty save for its prisoners, and lacked any clue as to when Sinister would return.

His gaze darted to the middle of the room... and froze. In the center of the semi-circle made by the glass prisons that housed the X-Men was a long metal bed, a twisted parody of some kind of medieval torture device whose adamantium-laced straps hung limply off of it. He didn't need anyone to tell him its purpose, he knew in the sinking feeling in his gut, in the sudden tightness of his throat. It was a dissection table.

And then he was frantically searching his teammates, counting them and making sure none were missing. Doing a cursory examination with his eyes to be positive none had already fallen victim to any of Sinsiter's sick tests. But then, they were all victims already, were they not? The nano-probes running through their bodies were testament enough for that.

Remy found nothing out of the ordinary, or at least nothing that he could see, and let out a breath of air that he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. Having already checked all the others, he turned his attention on himself, assessing the damage to his own body. Overall, he felt horrible, but that was as much due to the clenching fear that was dully screaming in his core as to any physical ailment. Specifically, he had a headache, his thigh was throbbing from where Sarah had stabbed it (yesterday?) in their fight, and his nose felt sort of sore, like maybe he had fallen on it. Oh yeah, and then there was the burning pain in his chest that was no doubt a consequence of the giant ball of energy Sinister had hit him with while capturing him. He felt horrible, but he could deal with it.

Tiredly, Remy rubbed his hands over his face. He vaguely remembered the dream—the flashback?—and tried to push the thoughts away. He was unsuccessful. He was also starting to get worried. It was strange that such a memory would come back to him, such a memory of a time when he had lost control of his powers, when he had recently had a similar experience, though less destructive, as a result of Joseph trying to neutralize the nanos. Coincidence? Stress and fear? Or... a warning dug up from deep within his subconscious?

Standing required some effort, but Remy managed it. His glass cell was towards the middle of the semi-circle; Rogue Joseph and Iceman were to one side while Wolverine and Psylocke were to the other. Lifting his head, Remy saw the outline of a door in the wall opposite him. There was no knob, but there was a digital lock embedded in the wall next to it, a tiny computer that would open the entryway when the right numbers were entered into its keypad. Considering for a moment, Remy decided that he could probably break the lock if he had the proper tools. But he didn't have the proper tools. And even if he did, the glass tube he was in was seamless and was protected by a force field. He wouldn't even be able to get to the lock at all.

There was the swishing sound of hydraulics pumps and then the door was suddenly open. In the gaping hole left behind stood an imposing figure. It was Sinister.

Remy watched the pale monster enter with hard eyes, with a gaze like steel that reflected none of the fear he felt inside. Jaw working silently, he fought down the wave of memories and feelings that came as a result of seeing Sinister. It wasn't that the geneticist had spent such an incredibly long time as a part of Remy's life rather than the fact that the role he had played had been so important in it. No matter how hard he tried, Remy would never forget what had happened.

By now Sinister had walked all the way into the room and the door from which he had entered was shut behind him. The bright sterile lights shone down, reflecting off the crimson eyes under the shadow of Sinister's brow, reflecting in just the same way as Remy remembered from years ago...

__

[The eyes are frightening, blood red and striking in the pale face that can barely be made out in the wan light of the street lamp. And somehow, those strange eyes manage to glint slightly, flashing in the dark night. But the color isn't the most frightening thing about them. It is the fact that they are so similar to his **own**.

He is out of breath, both from the running and fear. The theater where his powers had suddenly gone crazy was left behind hours ago, but he had continued moving, trying for all he was worth to run away from the echo of the screams in his head, to escape the gruesome images. He had failed at that.

And now there is this strange man standing in front of him, with the white skin only the dead share, and red eyes and a crimson diamond etched on his forehead. He stares at this shape that he has seen on so many playing cards, somehow entranced by it. What does it mean? Who is this man? Why has he stopped him?

The alleyway is dark and deserted, save for the rats and other vermin. He had run here knowing that he would end up in the most decrepit, dilapidated part of the city. It somehow made him feel more comfortable, more at home to be among the poor and homeless. Now, with this strange man standing before him, he wonders if that had been such a good idea.

"What do y' wan'?" he manages between tight lips.

The pale man does not answer. Simply stares with those frightening eyes and smiles. Smirks with dark, sick lips and stares with a crazy glint in his red eyes...]

Remy followed Sinister's movements with a steady gaze, shaking the memories from his head. The man was a frightening figure in his black costume that was all jagged lines, hard edges, and spikes. But Remy guessed he knew that already. Sinister was no fool. He never was, never had been.

The geneticist barely spared Remy a glance, but rather focused on the computer console that stood in front of Remy's containment cell. Sinister reached it, long, pale fingers dancing across the keys.

"What 're y' doin'?" Remy questioned urgently.

Sinister didn't answer. But then, he never did when it was important.

Remy stood stiffly, mind racing to figure out some plan, some course of action he could take to improve his position. He came up with nothing.

And then he shivered. And it wasn't because of fear. He genuinely felt cold and he looked around his prison searching for the source of the frigid air. There was no cause to be seen, but it felt as if the temperature had dropped several degrees.

He looked up at Sinister who was now staring at him. "What did y' do?" Remy demanded forcefully, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

This time Sinister merely smirked.

After a moment, he resumed pushing buttons, and it was with a sense of foreboding that Remy watched him and wondered what he would do next. It was only a moment before he found out. Suddenly, Remy's legs gave out beneath him, the muscles relaxing utterly and completely under no command from his brain. He fell, banging his knees loudly on the metal floor of his cage, sick with shock and apprehension as he realized his body was no longer his.

"What do y' wan'?" he croaked weakly from the floor, eyes still managing to exhibit defiance.

Sinister seemed to pause for a moment and then displayed an absolutely chilling smile. "Why, you, of course."

__

["What do y' wan'?!" he demands again, raising his voice more loudly.

There is another second of silence, and then he decides he has had enough. Using his slight power of empathy, which has returned to its normal strength, he plants the emotional force necessary into the other man to get an answer.

The pale man merely smiles and actually chuckles slightly.

Maybe he had been better off at the theatre. This stranger is getting scarier by the moment. "I said: What. Do. Y'. Wan'? I ain't in no mood f'r games." He pushes every ounce of strength and courage he has left into his voice. Finally he gets results.

"Why, you, of course."

He suddenly feels chills sliding up and down his spine at the voice like frozen stone and the words it utters. But he's met scum like this before. He's fought some enemies who were quite imposing. And has won.

"Too bad f'r y'. I ain't f'r sale." He pulls out a few cards from the deck sitting securely in his pant's pocket, charging them and throwing them at his adversary. A pink streak of light is momentarily left in the air, trailing the cards and he watches as they are just about to strike the pale man. And then something truly amazing happens. The man's body... bends, as if it were no more than a piece of clay. A hole forms in his chest and widens to allow the cards to pass through without actually hitting him, and then closes again. When the process is done he looks just like he did before it all happened.

So Remy's cards are ineffective. He doesn't pause to contemplate this, simply decides that he will have to do this the old fashion way. Aiming a high kick at the man, he reaches down to pick up a long plank of wood that is sitting in the alley with the same movement. Twirling around he settles it in his hands, balancing the weight, and positioning it like a staff, his favorite weapon besides his cards. Before the man has time to regroup he is on him, arms, legs, wood, all working together in a beautifully mastered dance. A dangerous dance. A deadly dance.

When it is over, the man lies on the floor, body covered in injuries.

And then as he watches, every cut, every bruise, every broken bone, heals itself and suddenly the man is back to normal, recovered completely as if nothing has happened.

His heavy breath almost catches in his throat as he watches the pale man rise from the floor and casually dust himself off. "Who are y'?" he whispers in shock.

"I am called... Mr. Sinister."]

Remy heard a rustle beside him and looked to Rogue's glass prison to see her slowly rolling over into awareness. She blinked her eyes and pulled herself onto her knees and then began to look around, observing her surroundings. He watched the looks of horror play across her features. Her eyes lingered a moment on the dissection table and then came to rest on him.

"Remy?" she questioned.

"Yah, chere. I'm still here." He tried to sound somewhat comforting, though he imagined that he had probably failed at that. He was still effectively paralyzed from the waist down thanks to Sinister.

"What happened?" She still seemed a bit groggy, and was now staring at Sinister, who returned her gaze steadily.

Remy knew the question was meant for him but Sinister answered first. "You are my prisoners. My specimens to study." 

Rogue winced at his choice of words. Visibly. "Oh." she mumbled to herself.

"Y' okay, Rogue?" Remy turned to look at her, sitting on her knees on the floor.

"Ah guess so, sugah. As good as can be expected." She turned critical eyes on him. She must have noticed the pained expression on his face. "How 'bout you? Are you okay?"

"Not really," he replied, not offering any further information.

"What's wrong?" she prodded, green eyes wide and worried.

Remy didn't answer, just kept his steely gaze on Sinister who was completely ignoring him. The pale fingers flew across the keys once again and suddenly Remy shot up to his feet, an action he had been straining to do for some time now but had just regained the ability for. His legs tingled slightly, as if they had fallen asleep, but other then that he felt normal.

"You're nano-controllers are in perfect working order," Sinister said simply, and then left to console in front of Remy... to go to the one in front of Rogue.

Rogue watched with apprehension as the pale figure came to rest in front of her prison, and began to concentrate on her computer. An ominous clicking filtered through the air, the sound of Sinister's fingers against the keypad the only noise in the suddenly silent room. Remy felt the knot of fear tighten.

And then Rogue was screaming in pain, her hands desperately clutching her head in the waves of her torment.

"ROGUE!" Remy yelled. "Noooooooooooo!" Without thinking, he threw himself at the glass walls of his prison, pure emotion driving him to try to get closer to her, to try to save her from Sinister's clutches. He was met with his own helping of intense agony as the force field met him and hopelessly scrambled his nerves. Convulsing briefly, Remy hit the ground with a loud 'thud', and then his abused and tortured brain retreated into darkness.

__

[He almost laughs at the name. Mr. Sinister? Only he can't laugh past the cold ball of fear churning within him. He stares at the man in the dim lights of the street, noticing for the first time the strange attire the other has on. It is some kind of form fitting, black suit with a cape of jagged strips of fabric. Very strange, and very frightening.

He knows he can't fight this guy. He still doesn't understand how he suddenly recovered from all his injuries or how he changed the shape of his body to allow the cards to pass through. The only explanation he can find is that the man is a mutant. A mutant too strong to fight. So he decides to dig for information, to talk. It is something he is rather good at.

"What do y' wan' wit' me?"

"You have skills. I have use of them," the pale man answers simply.

His eyes narrow. "What kind o' skills?"

"You are arguably the best thief in the world, or at least ranked among the top three, with a special talent for collecting information. You have... interesting mutant abilities and fighting skills to match. You also have connections that can get the job I have for you done."

So this was a business proposition. He knew business. He could deal with this. "An' what exactly is de 'job'?"

"I want you to collect a group of mercenaries to act as a strike force. The meanest, deadliest mercenaries you can possibly find. Discover their whereabouts and work out a deal with them so that they will work for me. It should be an easy task for someone of your abilities."

"That is if I choose t' accept de job."

"Oh, I think you will." And this Mr. Sinister says it with such confidence, such utter closure that he is taken slightly off-guard. Sinister must have noticed because he gives him a startling smirk.

Forcing his voice to remain steady, he says, "So what will y' give me in return f'r m' services?"

Another smile. "I know a lot about you, Mr. LeBeau. I have been watching you for some time. You... intrigue me. I know of your recent incident at that theatre. Your powers manifested themselves to their fullest. You have overwhelming potential, power beyond what you can imagine. I am a scientist. I could study that power, help you to weld it with skill and efficiency."

A scientist. A mad scientist. He is damned if he will be used as some specimen to be experimented on. He catches the hidden meaning in the words, the underlay of insanity. This man wants to stick him under a microscope and dissect him. Doesn't he understand? He doesn't want all that extra power. What it had done at the theater... It was horrible and he never wants to experience it again. He feels sick thinking of all the pain and destruction he has just caused. All the innocent lives that have been decimated. The screams... the never-ending haunting screams...

He laughs bitterly. "Sorry. Ain't interested." And then he turns and begins to walk away.

He hears a sigh behind him. "I had thought you would not accept that proposition. But I have something else to offer. Something I believe you will find quite interesting."]

The world came back into focus slowly, and for a moment he was aware, and yet not at the same time. He knew there was a reality. Knew that he was a living, breathing, human being and was at the same time oblivious to his surrounding, to what living really was. He drifted like that for only a moment before he fully awoke, some deeply imbedded instinct dragging him into awareness urgently.

Blinking, Remy looked around, remembering everything as he did so. Sinister was nowhere to be seen but all the X-Men were now awake, conversing quietly. He took another moment to push away the last veils of grogginess and then made his presence known.

"I miss anyt'ing while I was gone?" he asked, raising his now raspy voice to be heard even by the X-Men farthest from him. He reflected briefly on the fact that it was strange that his voice could be heard through the thick glass and force field. There was probably some speaker system or something responsible for that.

"Nothin' much. Sinister played around with his nanos a bit more. Nothin' exciting though. How ya feelin', bub? I take it we failed in our plan ta take down Sinister." Wolverine was facing him, looking a tad scrubbier than usual, from his prison next to Remy's.

Remy couldn't help but feel a brief flare of guilt. He had been the X-Men's last hope after Sinister had taken out the rest of the team, and he had failed, all because a cough left over by his pneumonia had stopped him from avoiding the ball of energy Sinister had thrown at him. It was rather embarrassing and he decided he was better off not mentioning that little fact to the others.

"Yah. An' I feel terrible, but I'll survive. Ain't nothin' worse than I've experienced before."

Wolverine nodded, understanding exactly what Remy meant. All the X-Men did. They had been through so much, had suffered unbelievably over the years. This was just another tragedy. He tried so hard to make himself believe that, that this was no more significant than anything else they'd experienced. But he failed miserably.

Rogue was looking at him, a concerned expression warping her features. "Ya sure yer okay, sugah? That was a pretty bad shock ya got." He thought he almost heard guilt in her voice, like she blamed herself for his reaction to her distress. For a moment he wished he could sense her with his empathy, but his mutant powers wouldn't work beyond the barriers that confined him.

"Cajuns, dey made tough. Take more dan a little electricity t' take us down f'r de count." He tried to grin reassuringly, layering the action with his natural-born charm. It seemed to work and Rogue visibly relaxed, her tense shoulders dropping slightly.

He just hoped she couldn't see his shaking.

It really hadn't hurt too much when he had first woken up, but now there was a growing pain spreading like warm needles over and through his body. The sensation finally plateaued at 'just tolerable' and he did his best to drown it out and to avoid wondering whether this new agony was a result of the shock the force field had given him or a result of something else Sinister had done. And then he realized something. The pain was _familiar._

"Excuse me, everybody. But shouldn't we be worrying about more important things. Like how do we get out of here for example? I dunno. Just a thought." Bobby looked annoyed, the glass and force field skewing his features slightly. But Remy could still see the plain fear revealed on them.

"We need to disarm these force fields somehow. Until we do that we will be unable to free ourselves," Joseph pointed out.

Betsy was frowning. "Yes. Now that we've pointed out the obvious, does anybody have any ideas?"

Silence.

Then a few nervous shuffles, Wolverine growling softly, Rogue sighing. Then Bobby scoffed. "That's just wonderful," he mumbled.

"Well," Rogue began after a moment, "it could be—"

"No!" Bobby interrupted suddenly, "Don't you dare say 'it could be worse."

The southern bell looked taken aback. "Why not?"

"Because every time somebody says that, it gets worse."

There was a sudden 'swishing' sound and then the door opened. Sinister entered.

"See? Told you so," Bobby breathed quietly, almost to himself.

The pale geneticist walked briskly over to the computer console in front of Remy's prison, barely sparing any of them a glance, like they didn't even exist. It was disconcerting at best. Downright terrifying at worst.

"Hmmm," Sinister mumbled to himself. "Interesting." His dark eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. Remy was tempted to ask what was so 'interesting', but managed to hold back the question and simply stare at him with a burning-hard gaze.

Finally, Sinister volunteered the information without prompt. He always did seem to enjoy sharing his discoveries out loud. Remy figured it was probably some warped way of gloating.

"Your nanos have been damaged slightly by the force field. There is no severe damage, but they are now down to 90 percent efficiency. Indeed, I will have to make adjustments to the force fields so that they no longer have such an effect. I wouldn't want you heroic, courageous X-Men getting any ideas of escape. The nanos themselves will still function efficiently and should repair themselves eventually, within a day perhaps."

Damaged nanos. Remy held the thought in his head... held it... held it...

__

[He stops walking when he hears the next sentence uttered from Sinister's mouth.

"I know what happened at that theater a few hours ago. Remember the deaths? The pain? How you lost control? I can make it so that such an event will never happen again."

He turns, sees the glint in the scientist's eyes. A madly prideful glint. But the words hit home and he remembers the death, the burning flesh, the screams radiating through his mind...

"What do y' mean?"

The smirk is back, settling comfortably on the pale man's face. He seems to enjoy wearing it, seems to know just how intimidating it can be.

And somewhere, deep beyond the reach of his pride, Remy feels the cold, hard fear grow.

"There is a way to control your excess power, the power that you lost control of back at the theatre. I have created tiny machines called nano-controllers that can hold the torrent of your mutant ability at bay."

Questions fill his mind. "Excess power? De torrent of my mutant ability? What exac'ly happened t' me back at dat theatre?"

"It is rather simple, actually. Your mutant power finally manifested itself to its fullest." The crimson eyes seemed to say that that fact was blatantly obvious.

Remy still had a hard time accepting it.]

Sinister had walked over to one of the seemingly unused walls of the giant room. The eyes of all the X-Men were watching him, following his movements, assessing him and searching for some weakness. If any of them found one they did nothing to indicate their success.

And then Sinister was pressing a panel on the wall and a whole section slid apart to reveal a monstrosity of a computer. Screens, keyboards, buttons in various colors, all peeked out from their hidden place in the wall, lighting up suddenly and practically screaming for attention. Sinister did not disappoint them.

Pressing a few buttons, he turned slightly to watch as the force fields in every prison suddenly flickered, throwing sparks and static into the air. A moment later and the fields were once again invisible, silent guards that were ever-vigilant in their task.

"What did ya do?" Wolverine snarled, throwing the words at the tall figure across the room.

Sinister turned. "I simply adjusted the force fields to prevent any adverse affect on the nano-controllers."

"Why? Ya scared we're gonna start throwin' ourselves at the force fields ta destroy yer precious slave masters?" There was a note of sarcasm in Wolverine's voice and an unmistakable anger. He wanted more than anything to get a chance at attacking Sinister. He was an animal at the basest level, and he wanted blood.

"I wouldn't put it beyond you," Sinister answered simply, as he walked back to Remy's console. "Now, back to you, LeBeau. Where were we... ah yes."

He worked at the computer before Remy for a few moments.

"Give it up, Sinister. Y' ain't gonna find anyt'ing, ya ain't gonna get a chance. You can never win." Remy hoped his words sounded confident, but somehow he imagined they didn't. But he couldn't just stand there silently as Sinister pried into every crevice of his body and mind.

"Au contraire. I have already won. And, my dear LeBeau, have no fear. I have already found plenty." His lips turned upward then, in some weird parody of a smile.

__

[He knows the shock is rather evident on his face, and, this man, Sinister, smiles in a most terrifying manner.

"What do y' mean, my 'mutant power finally manifested itself to its fullest'?" He feels like an echo, thin and whispy in the suddenly cold night, but it's all he can manage in his dawning understanding.]

Remy almost shivered in the cold that seemed to permeate in the wake of Sinister's chilling words. And then he was overcome by waves of hate for this man, this heartless monster who destroyed lives without so much as a thought. Who turned others into killers without caring. He flung a curse at the man, telling him exactly what he could do with himself, and then spat at him. Of course that last part wasn't particularly effective with the force field and glass in the way, but the gesture was made known.

There was a jagged chuckle and then, "Ah, LeBeau. You always were a bit rebellious, even when you knew it would get you no where. Were you not so valuable to me alive, did I not find you so intriguing, I might be inclined to dissect you and see first-hand exactly what goes on inside of you. Even so I might choose to do so. Don't test your luck. It seems to me it has run out as of late."

"And what exactly makes Remy so interestin' ta ya?" Rogue questioned suddenly, her voice sassy, "Is it jus' because o' his involvement with the Mutant Massacre?"

"Non, that ain't it," Remy answered, before realizing he had opened his mouth to speak. Everybody turned to him, including Sinister, expecting him to say more. He didn't.

After a moment, Sinister took it upon himself to answer the question. "The reason is this: LeBeau is an Omega."

__

["I mean, that you are a mutant of Omega strength, very rare, and that your powers have just jumped from their Alpha strength to their full Omega status." Sinister seems almost impatient now.

Omega. That is a rarity among rarities. It means that the mutant in question has the ability to affect the whole world with his powers. It means—it means that he has what so many mad villains and power-obsessed mongrels only dream of. And he knows he can't control it from what he's seen at the theatre, and therefore it also means the death of all those near him. He immediately knows that he doesn't want it. Doesn't want the responsibility. No wonder Sinister wants to study him, to make a deal with him. He wants to control this power, this Omega ability.

He suddenly realizes one thing that doesn't make sense. "If I'm an Omega mutant, den how come I don' feel more powerful now?"

"Because at the moment you are not experiencing Omega class abilities. Your body was simply testing them out at the theatre. The mutant power manifested and then retreated because of the shock it caused you. But it will be back, in short spurts at first, and eventually permanently. There is no way to stop it, unless you have my help."

"I don' need your help. An' I ain't gonna let y' stick some crazy machines in me 'cause y' say it gonna make me normal again. I didn' become one o' de most respected in m' business by bein' stupid." He doesn't want this Omega thing, doesn't want to deal with it. He couldn't control it last time, how would he be able to next time? But he also doesn't want to be involved with this man. Sinister is bad; he can feel it.

"And what exactly is your business, LeBeau? Not taking responsibility for your abilities? Destroying public property? Killing innocent bystanders whose only crime is enjoying a night out?" That smirk is back.

Remy feels the fresh pain of all the injured screaming for help resurface in his mind. The helplessness of being unable to do anything about it, of knowing it is his fault... 

And then he walks away, leaving the pale, red-eyed man without so much as a word. His mannerism gives his answer. No. Because whatever trouble these increased powers may cause, he knows that working with Mr. Sinister will be worse.]

Shocked expressions and surprise adorned the faces of the room's occupants. All except Sinister and Remy. Red eyes met red eyes in a war of will, both refusing to relent, to give up dominance to the other. Remy was shaking from pain, a pain that he thought he should recognize though couldn't place, but still he refused to give in. Sinister could tell his whole life story to these people if he wanted, but try as he might, he would never, _never, _break him. He had manipulated him once before. Never again.

Sinister's voice was mocking. "What's the matter, X-Man. Did you not inform your teammates of your true nature? Did you fail to let them know the pain you caused?"

"I ain't an X-Man," Remy replied, very quietly.

"Really?" Sinister's dark eyebrows rose slightly in disbelief and sarcasm. He glanced at the other X-Men and then back at Remy as if to ask, 'if you aren't an X-Man than what are you doing here with them?'

"An' dere ain't no reason f'r dem t' know what happened in de past 'tween us. It been done. I made my choice t' deal wit' y' an' I suffered de consequences."

"You did, indeed," Sinister replied.

"How can Gambit be an Omega mutant? He's never exhibited such extreme power before," Betsy spoke up, interrupting the conversation with the question on everybody's mind.

"Don't y' know already, Betsy? Y' ripped all m' other secrets outta m' mind. Dat's how y' found out 'bout de Massacre, right?" Remy threw all his frustration and vehemence into the words.

"I—no, I don't." And then she fell silent.

After a moment Remy decided to answer, realizing that if he didn't Sinister would, warping it to make Remy seem like the bad guy. "I was an Omega. I ain't anymore." Okay, so maybe he wasn't really giving any new information, but what they were asking was personal. It was his secret pain, the battle he had fought and given so much to win. Or maybe he had lost. He never could be sure.

"That doesn't help much," Bobby commented coldly.

"Non, I guess it doesn't."

__

[He walks through the ward in the hospital, long legs taking quick strides. It has been a week since the incident at the theater in Seattle and he has spent the time since searching out someone who might help him with these powers, might stop him from loosing control next time they decide to kick it up a notch. He thinks he may have finally succeeded.

Dr. Jerry Salsman is on the surface a simple medical practitioner, specializing in strange and rare diseases. But beneath that cover is one of the best mutant doctors available, secretly selling out his talents to those in need to prevent government detection and interference. He is one of the few a sick mutant can seek without fear of persecution. He has also claimed that he might be able to help Remy with his powers.

The halls are white, flawless, and plain. It is so boring that the task of walking through them almost becomes tedious, suffocating. He hates this place, has always disliked the closure hospitals made him feel. He's woken up in them too many times, barely remembering the event that had caused him to end up there, as doctors interrogated him and nurses questioned him. And of course, once they realized he was a mutant, once they saw his eyes, he was only treated worse...

Dr. Salsman's office is at the end of the hall, and as he walks toward it he glances in one room to see a tiny little boy stare back at him with big, round, eyes. They are the color of night, dark and lonely. He almost passes by, but stops. Something in the child's face catches his attention, the emptiness, the forced solitude. He understands these feelings; he has grown up with them. He enters the hospital room.

No one is inside and the boy peers at him with curiosity, his chocolate face watching this strange man with the dark sunglasses.

Remy comes up to the side of the bed and pats the boy on his bald, shiny head. Heart monitors beep, machines whir, strange liquids flow through tubes stuck into the tiny arms of the young patient. And he feels the pain, the yearning of this child. He has never been overly compassionate and caring; if there had been an adult in this bed he would have never bothered to enter. But a child? Children should not have to suffer this way. He knows first hand what it is to have the boundless dreams and energy of one so young stolen away unjustly.

He smiles at the child, but gets no reaction in return. The boy looks so small, so fragile, like one touch could shatter him into a million shards that would drift away into the setting sun, bringing those dark, starless eyes to the night from which they come.

Moving his hands quickly, he seems to produce a card out of thin air. It is the Ace of Hearts and he hands it to the weak, clutching grasp of the boy. Finally, he is rewarded with a smile, though a tiny one that only barely turns the edges of the child's lips upward. After showing that his hands are empty, Remy reaches down to the child's ear and pulls out a perfectly wrapped piece of candy. This time the resulting smile is wide and enthusiastic, as the little hand eagerly grabs it and unwraps it, popping it into a watering mouth.

And then he gives an extravagant bow and one last smile, before he backs out of the door. No words were ever exchanged; there was no need. And Remy uses his empathic ability to leave the child with a sense of hope, with a contentedness and peace. He continues down the hall.

He never makes it into the door of the office that is his destination. Because there is a burning sensation overtaking his body, a feeling like a million hot needles poking him constantly. And it grows with the horror in his eyes.

He tries to control it, oh does he try, but in the end he fails. The kinetic energy bursts out, riding in waves across everything around him, blowing up the office he stands so close to, destroying what and who's inside. Smashing his hope. He can feel the screams again, the agony. And once again he can do nothing to stop it.

When it finally ends he is left shivering on the floor. And he knows that everyone nearby is dead, including the little boy he had tried so hard to help...]

"Remy?" Rogue's voice came to him softly, fearfully. He knew she wanted him to tell her what he was hiding, what he was so reluctant to share. She wanted him to make it okay, to tell her that everything was fine and that he had done nothing wrong, that her fears were unfounded. He could do none of this. Not without lying. And he didn't want to lie, so he remained silent.

"How come ya aren't an Omega anymore, sugah?" she asked, pleading with him to tell her.

"Y' already know. You've absorbed m' memories. All y' have to do is be willin' t' find de answers." He knew she could, but he also knew she wouldn't.

"I—I can't... I mean... I don't want ta do that, Remy. Ya know that. Ah got a part o' ya inside o' me an I don't wanna invade that part... Ah care 'bout ya too much. Ah don't wanna steal yer secrets like that, ta invade yer privacy. Ah jus' want ya ta tell me." He met her brilliant green eyes and then turned away.

"I can't." Part of him wished she would just find the answers for herself, that she would release him from the burden of hiding it all.

"Why not?" She suddenly was suspicious, her glare turning hard and her words like steel.

"Non! It ain't like that... I—" How could he explain that what he'd been through was impossible to put into words. That there was no way to make them understand what had happened without them experiencing it. That this was something so private, so personal that he couldn't tell them. That he was afraid. "I just can't."

"LeBeau, I am sure you are able. You simply do not want to. If you would like, I can tell them just as easily." And Remy knew that Sinister wanted to tell them. The cold, hard monster was enjoying this. He was getting revenge for something and Remy wondered what. It took him only a moment to come up with the answer. Once, when he, Bishop, and Beast (which had at that time been the Dark Beast, thought they hadn't known it) had been captured by Sinister, Remy had tricked Sinister into releasing him from his restraints, and then had proceeded to destroy the geneticist's lab. Sinister had been angry, and now he was getting a little payback. Even monsters relished in vengeance.

"Stay outta this, Essex! It ain't your concern ya crazy, cold—" His language deteriorated from there and his red eyes were glowing with emotion.

"What was that?" Sinister asked. "LeBeau, I do believe your teammates have the right to know what you have been involved in." He managed to sound somewhat reasoning, despite the ever-present edge of ice in his voice.

Remy knew he had to distract Sinister, had to bait him to get his mind off their deal in the past. It was the only way to keep this private phase in his life to himself. "You're jus' sore 'cause I trashed your lab back in de city."

"You destroyed years of work, more information than you could ever comprehend! Nobody does that to me and avoids paying the consequences, not even you Remy. You are my prisoner now. It may do you good to remember that." Sinister was no longer mocking, no longer sarcastic. Only angry. "Enough time has been wasted."

He walked briskly back to the large computer spanning part of one wall and spent a few moments working over it. 

The next moment Remy knew was darkness.

__

[He is walking through the streets of N'awlins this time when Sinister confronts him again. In the distance there is the booming music of some party and laughter trickles through the air. The solemn, pale figure with the red diamonds seems out of place in the joyful atmosphere.

"What do y' want, Sinister?" he asks moodily. The event at the hospital had happened only days ago and he is still dealing with the guilt and pain of what has happened.

"I heard about your recent incident with your powers. 43 dead at a local hospital. How tragic."

"Shut up, 'bout dat! There wasn't anything I could have done!"

"But, wasn't there?"

He doesn't reply right away, because he knows this man is right. He had been offered a deal that could have controlled his powers, could have prevented all those deaths. The boy. Dr. Salsman. All gone. Because of him. He knows he will never forgive himself, never be able enter a hospital again without remembering.

Sinister seems to take his silence as an answer. "Ah, so you see now why you need me." The red eyes glow in the dim light of the moon, always staring, always accusing.

"All I see is dat y' mean trouble. An' I got enough o' dat in m' life." He stands casually but every muscle is tensed and ready for action. Because he can't shake the feeling that this man means danger.

"I could solve some of your troubles, if you would let me."

"Non, I ain't a fool."

"No, you are not. You are simply a murderer of innocents." 

"Blast you!" he screams almost hysterically. "I didn' mean for it to happen!" Screams, blood, pain, dying. He can see it, feel it all in his mind.

"But it did happen. And now we must deal with it." Calm, always so damned calm. A moment's pause to let that sink in and then: "All I want from you is to round up some mercenaries for a job. Then a few simple medical tests and I will give you a dosage of nano-controllers to restrain this extra power. You will simply be an Alpha mutant again." 

__

He stares at the ghostly figure. What else can he do? The one chance he had of controlling this thing himself was Dr. Salsman, and he's dead. There is no choice. Does it matter if this Sinister scares him, reeks of bad things? Does it matter? Not if he can prevent the accidental deaths of more innocents.

"One job. Dat's it, right?"

Sinister doesn't answer.

But he has no choice but to agree, whatever the price. "Fine, Sinister. Jus' explain t' me in detail what y' want me t' do."

"My employees call me Essex."

And he listens to what Essex has to say and obeys, because in the end he decides things can't get any worse than they are now.]

He woke up to the sound of Rogue crying. She was looking into her hands blindly, tears falling from her eyes as she sniffled quietly.

"Rogue?"

She turned to look at him and then looked away just as quickly. "Ah know," was all she said.

"Huh?" The bewildered look on his face contrasted sharply with the pain on hers.

"Ah accessed yer memories. Ah shouldn't have, but Ah had to know what yer secret was, had ta know how bad it was, if it was like the Morlock Massacre. Ah—it was horrible. Ah felt what you felt, yer pain, yer fear. And Ah understand. Ah don't blame ya." She tried to look into his eyes, but he turned away, expression hardening into stone.

"Remy?" she asked, gently.

"Y' had no right. Dose memories were private!" He didn't look at her when he spoke. He couldn't. She knew _everything._ And now she had doomed herself to be haunted by the same things he was.

"I know, sugah. But, ya told me to." The way she said it didn't make the excuse sound very convincing.

"Since when do y' listen t' me?" He realized suddenly that he had been testing her before. And that she had failed.

"Ah'm sorry, but... Ah had ta."

Remy didn't answer. He was too angry and hurt to right now. So he looked around the rest of the room, noticing that the other X-Men were awake, and avoiding Rogue's eyes. Wolverine was busy yelling at Sinister, his language mostly obscene and Sinister was standing by the big computer in the wall blatantly ignoring him. And then, suddenly, Remy couldn't hear Wolverine screaming anymore. The Canadian's mouth was still moving, his nostrils still flaring, but somehow the sound was being dampened. It was almost amusing to watch him so animated and not hear any of the snarls and growls that should have been accompaniment. Sinister continued working at the computer without comment.

"What are you doing?" Psylocke questioned Sinister, her voice firm and dark.

Sinister replied distractedly. "I have stopped the sound emanating from Wolverine's containment cylinder."

"No, what are you doing _now?_"

Silence was the answer.

"I believe the lady asked you a question," Joseph said harshly, "Answer her."

"And I do not believe you have the right to question me, but if you wish to know, I am manipulating the nano-controllers." Sinister still hadn't bothered to turn and face them.

__

[He had done his job, had gathered the bad folk Essex wanted. And now he holds his payment in his hands. After days of testing, this little cylinder was the result, a liquid containing tiny nano-controllers that would hold back the mutant power that made him an Omega. The best he could tell, it was supposed to create blocks in his mind to hold back the power.

Sinister had tricked him though. This dosage is only temporary, and only after one more job, only after he leads those bad folk through the tunnels under New York City for who knows what reason, will he get a more permanent dosage. But what can he do? He is stuck. He is desperate. And he is willing to do anything to make the nightmares of the people screaming stop.]

"What kind of manipulation?" Joseph questioned further. "What are you doing to us?"

Remy waited for the answer, wincing at the pain, pain like hot needles, a pain that he knew...

__

[He stares at the metallic cylinder in his hand that looks suspiciously like adamantium. He feels a pain throughout his body like a thousand hot needles and he knows that he is about to have another attack of his power.]

Suddenly Remy recognized the pain he felt. It was the same thing he experienced when he over-used his power... or when he lost control of it. His heart began beating very quickly. He knew he hadn't over-used his kinetic power. But he couldn't be loosing control... he had the nanos in him holding back the Omega potential. It was impossible... except... it was. Because after he had been knocked out by the force field Sinister had said the nano-controllers had been damaged. Was there any reason that damage couldn't have extended to the nanos that helped control his power?

He closed his eyes and felt for the intangible wall in his mind, the one created by the nanos he had gotten from Sinister long ago, the ones that stopped him from blowing up everything around him. He found it, and noticed how frighteningly weak it was...

Sinister was talking, and Remy caught the last half of what he said. "—programming the nano-controllers to give you the Legacy Virus."

There were gasps of shock around the room, yells of outrage.

__

[He presses a button on the cylinder and the top slides open, revealing a reddish liquid with a metallic glint. He feels the energy growing within him, starting to burst free. He must decide now.]

Remy's attention snapped back to what was happening around him and he realized what Sinister had said. Legacy Virus. A slow, painful death for all of the X-Men. For Sarah. For Rogue. For Storm. He knew he couldn't let that happen. He had to stop it. And he remembered his promises to Storm andSarah that he would take revenge on the one who had hurt them.

Sinister would pay.

He looked around his cell, thinking about some way of escape, some way to prevent Sinister from doing what he was trying to do. But there was the force field in the way, and as long as that was there he couldn't get free. His power over kinetic energy might work in shorting it out, but he needed to touch things to charge them and if he touched the force field he would be knocked unconscious before he had the chance to do anything.

Needed to touch things to charge them. It hadn't always been that way. There had been a time when he could charge things just by looking at them. Could he bring back that time?

He examined the barrier in his mind again, saw its weakness, found the hole he had left in it after Joseph had tried to short the nanos out back at the mansion. If he pulled just so the whole wall would collapse...

__

[He lifts the container towards his nose, smells the sterile quality of the liquid inside. And he knows he is taking a chance, that he can't trust Sinister...]

And if the wall collapsed? He would loose control, he knew that. But maybe he could also free them. Maybe he could save the X-Men from a horrible fate with Legacy. Wasn't it worth it if he could?

__

[But he feels the power growing within him again, knows that he has to do something now.]

He closed his eyes and reached into that hole in his mind, reached in and pulled, grasping at the walls and taking them down. The barrier cracked... and broke. And he was an Omega mutant again. He felt the flood of the power drowning him but he directed it outwards, towards the force field.

__

[He brings the liquid to his lips and takes a tiny sip. It tastes bitter and vile to his tongue.]

The force field glowed red, crackled, sputtered and then disappeared. And suddenly he could feel the room around him with his spatial sense and his powers were no longer limited to this tiny cylinder. Sinister was starting to turn around as Remy walked up to the glass and placed his hands on it, trying to charge it. But he couldn't focus the power, couldn't charge just that one object. That required too much control and so he settled for simply charging everything he saw. All except for the X-Men. He did his best to keep his energy away from them and instead directed it towards Sinister and the giant computer in the wall. He had to hope that he could control it at least that much and that the force fields would protect the X-Men. He also had to hope that if he destroyed the computer Sinister wouldn't be able to control the nanos anymore, that none of the X-Men would end up crippled with Legacy.

__

[He doesn't want to drink it but he's running out of time. Already the potential energy is starting to convert to kinetic in the hotel room around him. He must do something.]

He felt the pain, like he was being ripped apart and he could sense Sinister's shock and surprise. The room was glowing, the computers were glowing, Remy was glowing. And so was the glass cylinder he stood in, gripping the sides for support. Because the power was so great that even the potential energy in the air was being converted, and his control was so little that he couldn't stop his powers from consuming his prison. It was hard enough trying to keep the X-Men safe.

And Remy LeBeau suddenly realized that he might die, right here, because of his own powers. Realized that he might literally blow himself up. He remembered the Queen of Spades that had haunted him and shivered. It had been true, the warning had been true all along.

And then Remy LeBeau also remembered the people he cared about. Remembered that he was willing to give everything to stop Sinister and save those he cherished. And then it no longer mattered that he might die.

Because in the end, Remy had been wrong when he insisted to himself and others that he was simply a thief and nothing more. He had been lying to himself.

Because in the end, Remy was a hero, not because he was born with nobility and courage, but because he cared too much to see his friends hurt.

Because in the end, Remy was a different man than he had been when he first met Ororo Monroe.

__

[He takes the liquid to his lips again and this time drinks the whole of it as fast as he can before he looses his resolve. There is a horrible pain as his body is ripped in several directions at once and then it is gone. He sits shuddering on the floor, suddenly feeling like he has lost apart of himself and hating the feel of the giant impenetrable wall in his mind that holds that part out of his grasp.

It is done. Tears stream across his cheeks and crash to the floor with crushing finality.]

He poured as much energy as he could into the room around him. He could feel the kinetically charged air burning his skin and lungs. The world had faded away, loosing tangibility in the enormity of what he was doing. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard Rogue scream his name, thought he felt her fear.

But it didn't matter anymore. Because all he had now was resolve. And it was with the passion of all the pain and horror that he'd experienced in the past that he lashed out. It was with all the pure emotion that came with the truth of his mutant abilities, with the determination to see his justice done. It was with the screams of all those his powers had injured, the audience in the theater, the people in the hospital, Dr. Salsman, the boy. It was with outrage and tears. It was with the very essence of Remy LeBeau.

He saw Sinister watching him, knowing it was too late to do anything to stop Remy. Red eyes locked and Remy put all his hate and resentment, anger and pain into that glare.

Because in the end, he would win. He would not be broken by this villain, this murderer.

And then, all the while staring into the madman's eyes, he released his hold on the energy, allowed it to ignite and let the molecules discharge their excess kinetic energy. 

Remy LeBeau felt one moment of intense pain, and then...

And then the world ceased to exist.

Because in the end, Remy LeBeau was an X-Man.

And in the end, he would die for them.

finis


End file.
